In Another Life IX
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: For everyone who's requested another in this series :-) This one takes place during and after the events in "Batman: Mask of the Phantasm," so if you haven't seen that, get your hands on a copy right away because it's awesome :-) Thanks to FanfictionLurker1 for the suggestion!
1. Chapter 1

**In Another Life IX**

" _Welcome, Gotham, to the future! The future starts today! Look forward, Gotham, to the future! Our dreams are shining bright! With heart and hope to light the way, we're welcoming a brand new day! Welcome Gotham to the future! The future starts today!_ "

Jack Napier hated that song. But he couldn't avoid its annoying, cheery, upbeat strains as he waited outside the Gotham World's Fair for Mr. Valestra. Mr. Valestra had his own vision of the future of Gotham, and wanted to see if it agreed with the one at the World's Fair. Jack highly doubted it.

He didn't buy all this optimistic, happy-clappy crap about the future being all sunshine and roses, especially with people like Mr. Salvatore Valestra competing for control of the city. Not that Jack was a pessimistic guy - he was a realist. And he had lived in Gotham all of his life, and things had only gone from bad to worse. He didn't see anything magically changing in the future.

He tapped out his cigarette and then put it back to his lips, inhaling slowly and glancing at the sky. It looked like a storm was coming – black clouds gathered slowly on the horizon. A literal storm and a metaphorical storm, Jack thought – Mr. Valestra was not in a good mood, and that could only mean trouble.

Not for him, of course, he thought, exhaling a cloud of smoke slowly. Mr. Valestra relied on him to be the heavy in all his delicate operations, the guy who made sure everything went smoothly by whatever means necessary, and those means were usually violent ones.

Jack was a man who took great pride in his work – he always enjoyed the satisfaction of a job well done. And those jobs for Jack were often either bullet-ridden corpses, or occasionally a slower end prefaced by some brutal torture which had the victim begging for death before he killed them, something that Jack could really sink his teeth into. He had always thought of himself as an artist working in the medium of pain – to create masterpieces of suffering before the inevitable end, that was Jack's joy. And one of the few pleasures he indulged in.

Although, he thought with a sudden smile, if that Andrea Beaumont had shown any interest, that would certainly have been a pleasure he couldn't refuse. Andrea Beaumont was the daughter of one of Mr. Valestra's associates – a hot little redheaded number. Jack generally preferred blondes, but something about the Beaumont girl, her spirit and her sass, really did it for him. Unfortunately the woman was currently dating brainless billionaire Bruce Wayne, more money and muscle than style and substance. Some women just had no taste, thought Jack, tapping out his cigarette again.

A rumble of thunder distracted his thoughts and he looked up to see that the rain had started. Mr. Valestra wouldn't want to get wet, so Jack sighed, threw down his cigarette, and then went around to the back of the car, opening the trunk and pulling out the umbrella in preparation for his return.

He suddenly heard a scuffling noise behind him, and then a female voice muttering, "No, no, no!"

Jack turned to see a young woman stooping down to collect a bunch of boxes from where they had fallen on the ground, trying desperately to conceal them from the rain and to get them off the ground before they soaked through.

Jack opened the umbrella and then headed over to her, bending down to help her. "Allow me," he said, holding the umbrella over her head as he collected the remaining boxes.

"Oh…thank you," she stammered, awkwardly balancing the boxes in her arms. "Uh…I don't trust myself not to drop them again. Can I be a pain and ask you to carry them over to my car? It's just there."

"Sure," said Jack. "It's not a pain at all. But it looks like you've bought the whole shop out!" he chuckled.

"Yeah, I…uh…just wanted to send some souvenirs back to my folks in Brooklyn," she said. "This whole Gotham World's Fair is a pretty novel thing for them. For me too, actually – just glad I got to see it."

"Well, sorry the weather ain't better for you," said Jack, nodding up at the sky. He continued to hold the umbrella over her head as she walked. "We locals are used to the constant rain, but it must be pretty depressing for visitors."

"The weather ain't great in Brooklyn either," replied the woman, unlocking her car. "And I'm not technically a visitor – I live here now."

She dumped the boxes into the car, and then took Jack's and did the same. Sighing, she wiped her bangs out of her face and then looked up at Jack and smiled.

He saw her clearly for the first time and was absolutely stunned. The girl was young and incredibly pretty, with big, wide blue eyes and long golden hair, and a gorgeous smile which beamed at him gratefully.

"I can't thank you enough for coming to my rescue, Mr…?" she asked, holding out her hand.

"Uh…Napier. Jack Napier," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. "And you, Ms…?"

"Harleen Quinzel," she replied. "But call me Harley – everyone does."

"You say you…live here now?" he prompted.

"Yeah, got a job at Arkham Asylum a few months ago," she said.

"Oh yeah? What do you do there?" he asked, expecting her to be some secretary or orderly.

"I'm a psychiatrist," she replied. "Technically it's Dr. Harleen Quinzel, but I don't like to introduce myself like that – it sounds so formal!" she laughed.

"Oh…wow," he stammered. "That's…really impressive. I mean, for someone so young and…uh…young," he repeated, lamely.

She grinned. "What about you, Mr. Napier? What do you do, when you're not being a gentleman and saving women's shopping?"

"Uh…I…work for…a small, independent business," he said.

"Oh, so you're in sales?" asked Harley.

"Uh…no, I'm in the communications department," he said. "Making sure our customers get…what they deserve."

"That must be rewarding," said Harley.

"Er…yeah, it is," agreed Jack. "Not as impressive as being a shrink, of course. Sorry, is it disrespectful of me to use that term?" he asked, hastily.

"Nah, I hear it a lot," she said, smiling.

Jack cleared his throat. "Is your…uh…husband a shrink too?"

"I'm not married," replied Harley.

"Oh. Boyfriend?" he guessed.

"Single," she replied with a grin. "What about you?"

"Yeah, single," he agreed. "Nice coincidence, ain't it?"

"Uh huh," she said, smiling up at him. "It is."

"Jack!" shouted a voice from the entrance to the World's Fair. Jack turned to see Mr. Valestra standing there, looking annoyed.

"Uh…that's my boss…I gotta go," said Jack.

"Why? Is he gonna fire you for not carrying his umbrella for him?" laughed Harley.

"Maybe something worse than that," muttered Jack, glancing at the expression on Mr. Valestra's face. "Uh…before I go, can I have your number?" he asked, turning back to Harley. "Just to maybe…buy you a drink sometime?"

"I should be the one buying you a drink for being such a gentleman," said Harley. "But I guess we can sort that out later, say Saturday night? Here you go," she said, scribbling down some numbers onto a slip of paper and handing it to him.

"Thanks. Saturday night sounds great - I'll call you," he said.

"Please do," she replied, smiling at him again and then climbing into her car. Jack hurried over to Mr. Valestra, who had lit a cigarette and was smoking it irritably as he glared at him.

"Who was that?" he demanded.

"No one," replied Jack.

"Don't tell me no one!" snapped Mr. Valestra. "I saw you talking to some bitch that you apparently thought was more important than your boss! I wanna know who she is!"

"Just some shrink," said Jack. "She dropped her shopping in the rain, and I helped her pick it up…"

"Ain't you the gentleman, Jack?" sneered Mr. Valestra. "You know I've killed people for standing me up, doncha?"

"You kill me if you wanna, boss," retorted Jack. "You find somebody else to replace me. I'm sure you can."

Mr. Valestra growled. Jack knew his talents were fairly rare, even in the criminal business, and Mr. Valestra wasn't about to lose them over a slight infraction. But he still had to reassert his control as the boss, so he puffed out a cloud of smoke in Jack's face, and tapped the cigarette out onto his suit, burning tiny holes into it.

"Don't keep me waiting again," he muttered, heading toward the car. Jack followed with the umbrella, pocketing Harley's number. He helped Mr. Valestra into the car, and then shook the rain out of the umbrella and climbed into the driver's seat, heading back to the hideout.

"Jack, you remember your friend and mine, Carl Beaumont?" asked Mr. Valestra, puffing out another cloud of smoke.

"Yes, sir," replied Jack, nodding.

"You remember how he swore to pay us the money he owed us by today?" continued Mr. Valestra.

"Yes, sir," repeated Jack.

"Well, guess what, Jack?" sighed Mr. Valestra. "He ain't paid us. Just got a call from Buzz and Chuckie who showed up at his place to collect, saying he's skipped town."

Jack was silent. It wasn't necessary for him to comment, although privately he thanked his lucky stars he wasn't in Carl Beaumont's shoes right now. Not that he ever would have been stupid enough to break a promise to Mr. Valestra if he had been.

"We're gonna find him, Jack," said Mr. Valestra, quietly. "We're gonna find out which godforsaken corner of the earth he's run off to, and we're gonna take that money outta his hide. Or you are, I should say."

"It'd be a pleasure, boss," replied Jack.

"Gotta find him first, though," muttered Mr. Valestra. "Gotta send people out searching. Pain in the ass is what it is, Jack."

He exhaled his cigarette slowly, leaning back and shutting his eyes. "Beaumont's taken his kid with him too. Let's start there. I want you to get in touch with any friends she might have and…persuade them to tell you if they've heard from her."

"What about Wayne?" asked Jack. "They were seeing each other, and it'd be a pleasure to rough up that rich son of a…"

"No, Jack," interrupted Mr. Valestra. "Roughing up a celebrity like Wayne would attract publicity. Bad publicity that we don't need. But roughing up some spoiled, nameless rich kids nobody cares about, that's something else. Use whatever methods you want, threats to their families, personal injuries, whatever, but I want them singing like birds by the end of it."

"Yes, sir," said Jack, smiling. That gave him something else to look forward to this weekend. Couldn't be out torturing people too late, though – he had a date.


	2. Chapter 2

"Please, I swear, I don't know where Andrea is!" sobbed the young man. "I only went out with her a couple times – it didn't work out, and we didn't stay friends!"

"Sure, I believe ya, sport," said Jack, nodding as he ran his knife along the smooth, metal sharpener. "But see, the thing about torture is that sometimes it can help you remember things you didn't even know you knew. I've had so many people tell me they don't know anything, or can't remember anything, and what do you know? A few minutes under the knife and it all comes flooding back! Nothing like a jolt of pain to jolt the old memory!" he chuckled. "It's just like magic!"

The young man kept sobbing and whining, and Jack rolled his eyes. "C'mon, take it like a man!" he muttered. "What the hell is wrong with guys today? Don't they teach you prissy types how to be a man in college? Woulda thought that'd be an education worth having – learning how to die. Something we all gotta do eventually, after all, not like trigonometry and chemistry. So it's something we all should learn to do well."

Jack smiled at him. "I do it very well, in fact. When I'm inflicting it on others, of course, but hopefully when my time comes too. No one lives forever, ain't that right? See, I'm doing you a favor, kid. When you're young, you think your future's all bright and optimistic. You set off into the big world with dreams of changing it for the better. But when you get a little older, you'll realize that nothing ever changes. If anything, the future gets worse, and your dreams for changing the world die in the never-ending struggle to survive day after day. That's just how it is, and how it always will be. No point in being sad and miserable about it, though. Whatever happens, you just gotta keep smiling!" he said, grinning and holding up the knife. "And now you're gonna, kid. You're gonna keep smiling forever."

Jack whistled cheerfully over the sound of the screaming as he carefully carved a smile onto the young man's face. No info for Mr. Valestra on Beaumont's whereabouts, but at least he got another chance to work on his sculpting out of it.

He put down the knife some time later and glanced at his watch. "Holy moly, look at the time!" he exclaimed. "Sorry to rush out on you, kid, but I gotta change my shirt. I got a date, and it won't do to meet her covered in blood. That's not the kinda first impression you wanna give a lady. You hang in there until I get back, kay?" he asked, slapping him on the cheek he had cut open and making him scream.

He left the hideout where he had chained the unfortunate victim and headed back to his apartment. One glance in the mirror told him changing his shirt wouldn't be enough – he had blood all over. A shower was definitely in order, and afterwards fresh brylcreem in the hair. And then a new shirt, suit, and a dab of cologne, and he was ready to go.

He just had time to grab a bouquet of flowers from a street seller outside of Harley's apartment before he headed up the stairs and knocked on the door, precisely on time, he thought proudly with a glance at his watch.

Harley opened the door and beamed at him. "Hi, c'mon in," she said, holding open the door for him.

"Thanks," he said, taking off his hat as he entered her apartment. "These are for you," he said, holding out the flowers. "Though if I had known you were gonna outshine 'em by looking a million times prettier, I wouldn't have bothered."

"I'm glad you did," she replied with a smile. "And I'm glad you like the look. I don't usually go out much, so I'm not really used to dressing up."

"Why don't you go out much?" he asked. "Young, pretty girl like you should be seizing the day and living life."

Harley shrugged as she placed the flowers in a vase. "Never been the type for a lotta partying. I've had to work and study hard to get where I am today, so there hasn't been time for a lotta fun."

Jack smiled at her. "I really hope that's about to change, toots," he murmured, kissing her hand gently.

"Yeah…me too," she agreed, smiling back.

"Anyway, if there's one guy who can show you how to have fun, it's me," continued Jack. "My colleagues call me the Joker, just as a nickname, y'know, because I'm always pulling pranks and making people laugh."

"Should I call you that?" she asked.

"You can call me whatever you want, toots," he replied. "Jack, Joker, J…"

"Mr. J?" she suggested. "Good compromise between the formal and the informal."

He chuckled. "I like it. You want me to call you Dr. Q?"

"Nah, Harley's good for me," she said. "If you called me doctor anything, it would feel like you were my patient or something. And it would be ethically wrong of me to be dating a patient."

"Glad I ain't one of those then," he agreed, kissing her hand again. "Because if I was your patient, and you were my doctor, I doubt I'd be able to keep my hands off you."

"I hope you will tonight," retorted Harley. "I thought you were a gentleman, Mr. J."

"I prefer the term charming rogue," he said, shrugging. "Suits me better."

"Yes, I think it does," she agreed with a grin. "Thank goodness we're going to a public restaurant, so I can slap you if you try anything too forward."

"That would do the opposite of cool my resolve," he replied, grinning back.

"In that case, I'm not letting you buy me a drink," she retorted. "Don't want to lower my defenses around a man like you."

Jack cleared his throat. "Look, I know we're kinda joking and all, but…uh…I want you to understand something."

He lay his hands on her shoulders. "I might come off as a little flippant and caddish, but I'm being serious now. I ain't the kinda guy who would ever do anything to a woman against her will and without her consent. I ain't looking to take advantage of you, toots. I think you're gorgeous, make no mistake about that, but I wanna get to know you. The real you, not just some knockout doctor. I wanna find out who the real Harley is."

She beamed at him. "Nobody's ever…said anything like that to me before," she whispered. "Of course that's also just the sort of thing a scoundrel would say to get me to trust him," she added, reaching for her bag.

"I want you to trust me, toots," he said, honestly.

She grinned. "I do," she murmured. "That might make me foolish, but fools have fun, don't they, Mr. J?"

"They sure do, toots," he murmured, following her out the door. "They sure do."


	3. Chapter 3

"Hi, we have a reservation here for seven?" said Jack as he and Harley entered the restaurant he had booked.

"Of course, sir. What name is it?" asked the maitre d.

"Seymour Butts," replied Jack. Harley snorted in laughter, and the maitre d raised an eyebrow. "What? That's my name," said Jack, sincerely. "You ain't gonna be unprofessional and laugh at it, are ya?"

"No, sir," retorted the maitre d, contemptuously. "What sort of juvenile sense of humor would be amused by toilet puns?"

"I thought it was funny," whispered Harley as the maitre d escorted them to their table.

"Mission accomplished, then," said Jack. "I always consider a joke a success if at least one person laughs at it. Even if that person is the same one who told it!" he chuckled.

"You must be a lotta fun to work with," said Harley. "Nobody at Arkham really has a sense of humor, but I can't say I blame them. It can be a pretty depressing atmosphere sometimes."

"Yeah, I imagine the crazies ain't the most fun to deal with," said Jack. "Although actually I think if I were crazy, I would be. Just imagine all the fun you could have if you weren't held back by sanity. No sense of consequences for your actions, no fear for your life – you could do anything!"

"You sound almost like you want to go crazy," said Harley with a smile. "Believe me, it's not a glamorous lifestyle, Mr. J."

"Maybe not yet," agreed Jack. "Hasn't had the right caliber of lunatic to make it glamorous yet."

Harley grinned. "You're a funny guy, Mr. J. But I'm sure you hear that a lot."

"Not really," he said, shrugging. "My boss ain't got much of a sense of humor, as you could probably tell from his face. And my other colleagues are the same. Buncha boring sad sacks."

"What does your company do?" asked Harley. "Nothing that needs a sense of humor, I'm guessing. Not a company of birthday clowns or anything."

"Nah, nothing like that," chuckled Joker. "We specialize in really dry, boring business affairs – no need to bore you by discussing it. I'd much rather hear about you and the crazies."

"Not much to tell," replied Harley, shrugging. "Mostly because I can't. Doctor-patient confidentiality, y'know."

"And what are your interests outside of work?" he asked, pouring her some wine. "I want you to tell me all about yourself."

Harley shrugged again. "Not much to tell. I was born and raised in Brooklyn – worked hard and studied hard to get a scholarship to come here for college, and then got the job at Arkham."

He nodded. "Now tell me something real about yourself," he said. "Something that's unique to Harley as a person."

"Uh…gee, I dunno!" laughed Harley. "I…uh…hate fish? That's kinda boring, but it's the first thing that popped into my head…"

"Good to have dislikes," said Jack, nodding. "And lucky break I didn't book a seafood restaurant for our date!" he chuckled. "But now tell me some things you like."

Harley thought for a moment, sipping her wine. "I like fireworks," she said at last. "They're bright and pretty and make me feel all tingly inside. Same with Christmas trees, actually. Christmas is my favorite holiday, even though I was raised Jewish. Uh…let's see. I like staying in bed on rainy days and reading a good book. I like going for walks when it's chilly and the leaves have just started to change. I drink wine, but I prefer grape soda. I like silent movies because my Dad showed 'em to me when I was a kid."

"Yeah?" said Jack, smiling. "You recognize this routine?"

He picked up two bread rolls and stuck two forks in them, and then began doing an impression of the table ballet from Charlie Chaplin's _The Gold Rush_. Harley giggled hysterically, and applauded enthusiastically when he was done.

"That was perfect!" she exclaimed. "You're great with physical comedy!"

"Are Mr. and Miss ready to order?" asked the waiter, who was glaring at them for causing a commotion.

"Mr. and _Doctor_ should be," said Jack, smiling at him. "How about it, Doc?"

Harley grinned at him, and at the surprised expression on the waiter's face. They gave their orders and he hurried off, embarrassed.

"You must get that a lot," said Jack. "People probably don't expect a young, pretty girl like you to be a doctor. I know I sure didn't, and it nearly made me too afraid to ask you out."

"Why's that?" asked Harley.

He shrugged. "You're just way outta my league. Not only looks-wise, but career-wise. I'm kinda surprised you said yes to a date."

"I haven't been out much, like I said," she replied. "And I think you're cute."

"For an old guy," added Jack, smiling.

"I like older guys," she said. "Anyway, you don't look that old to me. And you certainly don't act it," she added, as Jack picked up a spoon and began balancing it on the end of his nose.

"Is that a good thing?" he asked, holding the spoon up with the aid of his lip.

"Yeah," she said, grinning. "I like a guy who can make me laugh."

He grinned back. "Then I won't ever stop trying, toots," he murmured.

True to his word, Jack made Harley laugh throughout dinner, much to the annoyance of the other diners. The final straw came when Jack told a joke that made Harley snort her drink out of her nose, adding a mess to the annoyance of loud laughter. The whole restaurant was glaring at them by the end, and were relieved to see them leave.

"I don't think we'll be welcome back there," commented Jack as he walked Harley up the stairs to her apartment.

"Fine with me," said Harley. "The food wasn't great, and the service was appalling. We'll go somewhere else next time."

"I'm lucky enough to be getting a second date, huh?" asked Jack, grinning at her.

"Yes, you're just about charming enough to earn it," replied Harley, grinning back. "Though you don't have to keep making me laugh if you don't want to – it must be hard work to have to be funny all the time."

"Nah, funny's just what I am, toots," said Jack, shrugging. "And it ain't hard work. It's a pleasure. You got a great laugh. I like a girl who don't hold back on her laughter."

"Well, I haven't laughed that hard in ages," said Harley. "So thank you, Mr. J."

They had reached the door to Harley's apartment and she cleared her throat expectantly. "Well…goodnight, Mr. J," she prompted, expecting a kiss.

Jack leaned forward, taking her face in his hands and gently planting a kiss on her cheek. "Night, Harley," he said, smiling at her and turning away.

Harley's disappointment lasted all of a second, before she suddenly grabbed his tie and turned him back around, crushing her mouth into his. Jack responded instantly to her enthusiasm, sliding his arms around her waist and up her back.

"I also like a girl who takes her own initiative," he murmured, grinning as they drew apart at last.

"Well, somebody had to," she retorted, grinning back. "Don't you play hard to get, Mr. J, or I'll think you're not serious about this relationship."

"Believe me, toots, this is the only thing I've ever been serious about in my life," he murmured.

She beamed as he kissed her again, tenderly. "We've only had one date, but I'm afraid I'm already pretty crazy about you, Mr. J," she murmured.

"If anybody can make crazy glamorous, it's you, toots," he replied. "But don't spread that around at work – you'll lose your job as a shrink."

She grinned. "I'll call you," she said, heading inside.

"Not if I call you first," he replied.

Harley giggled, and then rushed back to give him one last, quick kiss. "Night," she whispered.

"Night," he said, watching her until the door shut. Then he headed back down the stairs, whistling cheerfully.

He was very happy with the way things had gone, he thought, as he drove back to the hideout where he had chained the prisoner. Perfect way to end a great evening – some light romance, followed by some brutal violence.

Harley was a great gal and he had a good feeling about their relationship. The only issue as far as he could see was actually telling her the truth about his job one of these days. Not one day soon – no need to rush that until things got serious. But he certainly didn't want to scare her away, and he wasn't at all sure of her reaction if he told her he was a criminal. She did seem pretty crazy about him, but was she crazy enough to overlook that? Jack guessed he would just have to wait and see.


	4. Chapter 4

"And none of 'em knew where she'd gone?"

"No, sir," replied Jack, shaking his head. "Not a one. Apparently the Beaumont girl was pretty private – kept herself to herself at the best of times. And her departure was so sudden that she didn't get to say goodbye to anyone, let alone where they could contact her."

Sal Valestra sighed, leaning back in his chair and exhaling a cloud of smoke. "All right, dead end there. Guess it's time we checked out Carl's business. We risk drawing greater attention to ourselves, but it's a risk we gotta take if we ever wanna get our money back and repay Carl for double-crossing us. He had to trust somebody in the office enough to tell 'em where he was headed. We need to find out who that is."

Jack took a drag on his cigarette. "Who do you want me to have a word with first?" he asked, smiling.

"Not you just yet, Jack," said Sal, waving his hand. "You did good work with the girl's school friends. Let Chuckie and Buzz do the subtle stuff around the office, make some casual inquiries, and when you're needed, I'll let you know."

Jack shrugged. "Suit yourself. You'd get the info a lot quicker with me asking the questions."

"And I'd get a lot more questions from the police," retorted Sal. "The disappearance of a buncha rich kids could have a million motives. The disappearance of a buncha people from the same office would be a lead the cops would follow straight to us. I don't want that kinda heat right now. Money is just as effective as violence sometimes. Someone's bound to come forward with info if there's a bribe involved."

"Ok, but spending money to get money back seems kinda crazy to me!" chuckled Jack.

"You questioning my decision, Jack?" asked Sal, quietly.

"No, sir," replied Jack.

"Good," he said, looking at him. "Because I'd hate to have to teach you a lesson in respect. Your shrink bitch wouldn't enjoy it."

Jack was silent, puffing out a cloud of smoke. "You leave her outta this," he muttered.

"You think I didn't know?" continued Sal. "You think she was safe from me? I keep tabs on my men at all times – where they're going, what they're doing, _who_ they're doing. So I warn you not to cross me, Jack, unless you want your little shrink slut to pay for it."

"You lay a finger on her, Sal, and you won't live to regret it," murmured Jack.

"Is that a threat?" demanded Sal.

"Yeah, it is," retorted Jack. "You mess with Harley, and you're a dead man."

Sal smiled. "I won't, as long as you show me the respect I deserve. Be a good boy, Jack, and she won't be harmed. But you even think about questioning my orders again, and I'll make sure she can't spread her legs for you or anyone else ever again. You got it?"

Jack nodded curtly and then stormed from the room. The moment he was outside, he dropped his cigarette butt on the ground, and then stomped on it repeatedly, hard.

"One day, Sal, I'll have your face right here, underneath my heel!" he hissed. "And we'll see who's smiling then, won't we, little man?"

Jack gradually got himself under control as he headed for his car, glancing in the rear-view mirror and smoothing his hair back before he started the engine. It wouldn't do to pick Harley up looking like a slob.

They had gone on several dates, and Jack could freely admit to himself that he was head over heels in love with her. Her smile, her laugh, her sense of humor, the way her eyes shone when she looked at him, full of adoration. He just loved spending time with her and making her laugh. And she always laughed at his jokes.

But she still didn't know about his job. Which was fine, he reminded himself, as their relationship was still new and fairly informal – they hadn't even slept together yet, after all. Jack didn't want Harley to think of him as a superficial guy who just wanted to use her, and he didn't want her to feel pressured into doing anything she wasn't ready to do. He thought maybe she had hinted that she was ready a few times, but he couldn't be sure. If Harley ever gave him a clear sign that that was what she wanted, however, there was nothing he would enjoy more.

He drove his car through the iron gates of Arkham Asylum, pulling up in the parking lot. Harley had to work late, so he intended to pick her up from work when her shift was over and surprise her with a bouquet of flowers, which he retrieved from the passenger seat.

He strolled through the iron doors, whistling and looking around at the imposing Gothic architecture. "Crazy place to keep lunatics!" he chuckled. "The décor alone would mentally disturb a sane person!"

"Can I help you?" asked the receptionist, a dour, unsmiling middle-aged woman.

"Yeah, hi, I'm looking for Dr. Harleen Quinzel?" said Jack, smiling.

"And you are?" asked the receptionist, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm her boyfriend," he said. "Just thought I'd surprise her."

The receptionist's eyebrows narrowed. "She's in session," she retorted.

"Ok, well, I'll just wait outside her office until she's done," said Jack. "If you could just point me in that direction…"

The receptionist sighed heavily as if this was a particularly difficult chore. "Through the cell block," she muttered, pointing. "Don't speak to the inmates. And Arkham Asylum isn't responsible for anything they say or throw at you, or anything that happens to you on our premises."

"O…K…thanks," said Jack, slowly. He headed toward the cell block, resuming his whistling.

"Shut up!" snapped a voice. "Some of us are trying to think, and we can't with that racket!"

Jack glanced into the cell. "Gee, you must not be very smart if your brain can't cope with a little noise," he retorted. "Is thinking really that hard for you that you gotta focus all your attention on it?"

The man glared back at him. "Thinking is not hard for me," he growled. "And I _am_ very smart – I'm a genius, in fact. And the kind of thinking I'm doing is very complex, so it requires my full concentration."

"Yeah? What kind's that?" asked Jack.

"I'm devising a series of amusingly taxing challenges and mentally exhausting brainteasers," replied the man.

"You're what now?" asked Jack.

The man sighed. "Riddles, you foolish simpleton! I'm devising riddles! I am the Riddler, the greatest criminal genius Gotham City has ever known!"

"Oh. Riddles, huh?" said Jack, thoughtfully. "I don't think spending all your time thinking those up makes you a genius. I kinda think it makes you the opposite of that. What kinda crimes involve riddles anyway?"

"Genius ones," retorted Riddler. "I can't expect your primitive brain to understand."

"I understand crime," replied Jack. "Dabble in it myself, from time to time. And considering you're locked up in there, and I'm free out here, I wonder who the real criminal genius is here, don't you?"

Riddler glared at him. "You think you're pretty funny, don't you?" he growled.

"Nah. I _know_ I'm pretty funny!" chuckled Jack, striding off. "See ya later, Riddle Man!"

He walked down the rest of the cell block, glancing in at the people in the cages. There was a big, hulking brute with green, scaly skin who was devouring a whole chicken. There was a small man in a top hat who sat at a table laden with tea things, pouring a cup for himself.

"How dare you?!" snapped a voice, suddenly.

Jack whirled around to see a green-skinned woman glaring at him in fury, her hands shaking as they clutched the bars. "How dare you bring those in here?!" she shrieked, pointing at the bouquet of flowers.

"Don't worry about it – they're not for you, toots," retorted Jack.

"I don't care who they're for!" she shrieked. "It's murder! You have the nerve to murder my babies, you brute, and then carry their dying husks in here to taunt me!"

"No, to impress my girlfriend," retorted Jack. "Who ain't you, thankfully."

" _You can learn a lot of things from the flowers, for especially in the month of June, there's a wealth of happiness and romance, all in the golden afternoon_!" sang the man in the top hat.

"Shut up, Jervis!" shrieked the woman, grabbing a dish from her cell and throwing it at him. The man in the top hat threw a dish of his own back, and Jack hurried from the cell block just as a fight began.

"I can see why Arkham don't wanna take responsibility for them," he muttered, knocking on the door of the office that read _Dr. Harleen Quinzel._

"Come in!" she called.

Jack opened the door, smiling at her. "Hiya, toots!" he exclaimed.

"Jack!" she gasped, beaming. "What a pleasant surprise! Come in, come in, I'm just finishing up my session," she said, beckoning him inside.

"Well, like all comedians, I got a great sense of timing!" chuckled Jack, bending down to plant a kiss on her lips and hand her the flowers.

"Jack, you are so thoughtful," she murmured, smiling up at him. "Let me introduce you to my patient – this is Professor Jonathan Crane. Professor Crane, this is Jack Napier, my boyfriend," she said, gesturing at him.

"Oh. Boyfriend. I see," muttered Crane, glaring at Jack in pure loathing, as he had been from the moment he entered. "How splendid for you."

"What are you in here for, Professor?" asked Jack.

"Professor Crane has a fascination with fear, and tested an experimental, hallucinatory drug on some students," said Harley. "Which led to him getting fired and arrested, of course. But I'm actually pretty sympathetic with his case – he's been bullied his whole life, and his desire to create a fear toxin was to help himself overcome that crippling terror."

"Yeah? You feel sympathy for criminals?" asked Jack, hopefully.

"I am not a criminal!" snapped Crane. "What I did was perfectly legal – they all signed release forms!"

"I'm not sympathetic with criminals," said Harley. "Not at all. But I do tend to sympathize a little with lunatics. I know what it's like to feel crazy about someone, after all," she murmured, kissing Jack tenderly.

Jack felt Crane's eyes burning in fury and fixated on him. Harley drew away and turned back to Crane. "So, Professor, is there anything else you'd like to discuss before we finish our session?"

"No, thank you," growled Crane. "I'd just like to be returned to my cell, please, before I'm forced to endure any more public displays of affection."

"I wonder why the Professor's in such a bad mood," said Harley after the guards had taken him away.

"What are you, blind?" chuckled Jack. "You can't tell he's got a crush on you?"

"Really?" asked Harley, astonished. "No, I…didn't know that!"

"You must be blind, sweets!" he laughed. "But he really is crazy if he thinks he's got any kinda chance with you."

"Well, yeah," agreed Harley. "I'd never date a patient – that'd be completely unprofessional! I could lose my job!"

"And you're too crazy about me to even look at somebody else, right?" asked Jack.

She giggled, and kissed him again. "Course I am, puddin'."

"You can stop calling me that right now," said Jack as she gathered up her bag and locked the office.

"Sure thing, puddin'," she replied, grinning.

Jack sighed, rolling his eyes. "So where to?" he asked when they reached the car. "You wanna go out someplace?"

"Sure," she said. "But maybe head back to mine to change first. I don't like to dine in a lab coat."

"Aw, c'mon, toots, I'd pay to see you psychoanalyze the dinner!" he chuckled. "You are what you eat, y'know, and I don't wanna eat anything too crazy!"

Harley giggled. "You're such a goofball, Mr. J!" she laughed. "And I can't tell you how good it feels to laugh after a long day at Arkham."

"Yeah, I see what you meant about it being a difficult atmosphere," said Jack, nodding. "Staff and patients seem to just be a buncha gloomy sad sacks."

"The patients less so than the staff," sighed Harley. "So that's saying something."

"You ever thought of quitting?" asked Jack. "I'm sure a girl of your talent could find a job somewhere else no problem."

"Oh, I couldn't leave the patients," she said. "I'm the only one who really listens to them – they need me. Anyway, I don't wanna move outta Gotham. I really got something worth staying for now," she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

Jack pulled the car up in front of her apartment. "I'll wait here – you go change," he said.

"Oh…you don't wanna maybe…come up for a drink while you wait?" she asked, slowly. "Y'know, women and dressing for dinner – could take a while," she added, smiling.

"I guess I could," said Jack, shrugging. "Just didn't wanna intrude."

"You're so sweet, Mr. J," she murmured, grinning at him as they walked up the stairs to her apartment, hand in hand.

"What's your poison?" she asked, as Jack took a seat on the sofa in the living room.

"Got any scotch?" he asked. "I'm a scotch man myself. Even though I'm actually Irish!" he chuckled.

Harley giggled, pouring him a glass of scotch and handing it to him. She studied him as he sipped it.

"Mmm, good vintage!" he said. "You got excellent taste, toots!"

"Yeah, I do," she agreed.

"You better go change," he said, glancing at his watch. "The restaurants get packed later on in the evening."

"Yeah…I will," she murmured. She looked at him, and then gently straddled his lap, kissing him slowly as she began to undo the buttons on her blouse.

"Harl…what are you doing?" he murmured between kisses.

"Changing," she murmured, grinning. "Outta my clothes. Doncha wanna see that, Mr. J?"

"Sure…yeah…but…I…uh…" stammered Jack, as he awkwardly responded to the kisses. On the one hand, he was very excited about getting to the next step in their relationship. But on the other…it brought him one step closer to having to tell Harley the truth about himself.

Harley noticed his discomfort and stopped kissing him, frowning. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, hastily.

"You sure?" she asked, studying him carefully. "You can tell me if you don't wanna…"

"Oh no, I do wanna," interrupted Jack. "I do. I just don't wanna…pressure you, or make you think that I…just want your body or something."

"I don't think that," she said. "And if anything, I'm the one pressuring you. You know, it's ok to say no. If you need…I dunno…pills or something."

Jack looked at her, slightly offended. "No, I don't need pills!" he snapped.

"I just thought maybe…as an older guy…there's nothing to be ashamed of…"

"I don't need pills!" repeated Jack, furiously. "I can get it up no problem, as you can probably feel!" he snapped, thrusting his hips up into her lap. Harley giggled, and then gasped as Jack began kissing her neck and down her open shirt, his arms tightening around her as his hands explored her body.

"Oh…Mr. J!" she gasped.

"You get ready, kiddo," Jack growled. "Daddy's gonna rev up his Harley."

"Seriously? You're going with that?" asked Harley, gazing at him.

"Yeah," he said, defensively, drawing away. "Why? Doncha like it?"

Harley giggled again, and then pushed him back onto the sofa. "Vroom, vroom, puddin'," she murmured.


	5. Chapter 5

Harley sighed happily as she cuddled into Jack's arms, listening to his pounding heartbeat which echoed her own. "God, that was incredible," she whispered.

"I aim to give satisfaction!" he chuckled. "And you weren't so bad yourself, toots," he murmured, planting a tender kiss on her lips.

"I'm sure glad I invited you up for that drink," she murmured, trailing her finger down his chest.

"Me too," he agreed. "Did you have that planned all along?"

"Maybe," she said, grinning. "Anyway, we're too late to go out to dinner now."

"Shame, because I'm starved after all that exercise!" chuckled Jack. "You wanna order a takeout or something? That way we can just…stay in bed," he murmured, kissing her.

"Mmm, sounds great," she purred. She was gazing up at him with that same adoration, those same shining, sparkling blue eyes, beaming happiness.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, stroking her hair back. "What did a guy like me ever do to deserve a gal like you?"

"You picked up my boxes when I dropped them in the rain," she retorted.

"Yeah, thanks for being clumsy, toots!" he chuckled, kissing her once more and then climbing out of bed to get dressed. "Chinese ok with you? I know this great place down by the docks – best kung pao beef you ever tasted! And I can get us a discount since he operates on Mr. Valestra's turf…"

He trailed off suddenly, realizing that he had spoken before he thought. "Who's Mr. Valestra?" asked Harley.

"Mr. Valestra's…the guy who owns the takeaway," invented Jack. "Gives me discounts…as a frequent customer, y'know…and of course he operates…on his own property…so…uh…yeah…I'll go call him…" he said, heading out of the room to use Harley's phone.

"Way to go, Jack," he muttered to himself, as one hand reached for the telephone and the other reached for the packet of cigarettes in his pocket. "Jesus, you either gotta tell her, or you gotta be a lot more careful!"

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's Jack Napier," muttered Jack, balancing the receiver on his shoulder as he lit his cigarette. "Need two orders of kung pao beef with all the trimmings delivered pronto."

"Of course, Mr. Napier, right away, Mr. Napier," said the man on the other line, obsequiously. "No charge for friends of Mr. Valestra's…"

"Yeah, I know all that," snapped Jack, giving him the address. "Just get it here pronto. Don't wanna have to tell Mr. Valestra I'm dissatisfied with your service."

He hung up the phone, exhaling the cigarette. "I didn't know you smoked," said Harley, emerging from the bedroom at that moment dressed in a bathrobe.

"Oh…yeah," said Jack. "Uh…sorry...you don't mind, do you?"

"I'd prefer if you do it on the balcony," said Harley. "But no, I don't mind. Just strange that you didn't tell me."

Jack shrugged, heading for the balcony door. "Well, it ain't the cleanest habit, is it? Wanted to make a good impression on the pretty, classy girl I'm dating."

"That's sweet, Mr. J," she said, joining him on the balcony. The whole city stretched before them, twinkling lights in the darkness and occasional sirens screeching over the traffic, as Jack smoked.

"You coulda told me though," said Harley, at last. "You know you can always tell me anything, don't you, Mr. J?"

"Sure I do, kid," he said, nodding, puffing on his cigarette.

"I just…got this feeling that you're hiding something from me," she murmured. "I'm a shrink – reading people's kinda my job, and you just seem kinda…nervous."

"Well, can you blame me, kid?" he demanded, turning to her. "I'm this middle-aged guy with a crap job and a filthy habit, and you're some young, knockout doctor who's so smart and talented and funny, and when I think about us, I get nervous that…that this is all some kinda dream I'm gonna wake up from any second. You're too good to be true, kid. This thing we got, it's too good to be real for me. I'm the kinda guy who's…made a lotta mistakes in his life. I don't deserve anything like this."

Harley beamed at him. "This is real, Mr. J," she murmured, laying a hand on his cheek. "I promise you, I ain't going nowhere."

She dropped her hand, grinning. "But if you want me to kiss you again, you gotta go wash your mouth out in the bathroom. I don't like the taste of smoke."

She kissed his cheek and headed inside. Jack chuckled, threw his cigarette off the balcony, and followed her. He was just swishing the mouthwash around his mouth when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," he said, pelting out of the bathroom and beating Harley to the door.

"For you, Mr. Napier, piping hot, please let Mr. Valestra know about good service…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, thanks," interrupted Jack, grabbing the bag from the delivery man and slamming the door in his face.

"Did you pay for that?" asked Harley, puzzled.

"Yeah…over the phone," said Jack.

"Valestra don't sound like a Chinese name," commented Harley. "But it's nice that he wants feedback from the customers."

"Yeah, he's a…great guy," said Jack. "Not authentically Chinese, but his workers are…so…yeah. Hey, let's see what's on TV while we eat!" he said, changing the subject. "Sure I can find us a nice comedy…"

He gradually relaxed as they laughed at the TV and ate, cuddling together on the sofa. And once dinner was over they very quickly lost interest in the screen and relocated to the bedroom, where Jack revved up his Harley for the second time.

Harley had been dozing off in his arms afterward when Jack glanced at the clock. "Woah, getting late," he said, gently pushing her away and sitting up. "I need to get back."

"Back?" repeated Harley, confused. "Back where?"

"Back home," replied Jack. He didn't know when Mr. Valestra might need him, and he tended to call at unsociable hours when he did. "I got…an early appointment tomorrow."

"Oh," said Harley, slightly disappointed. "I thought you might wanna…stay the night."

Jack laughed nervously as he dressed. "Nah, got some…stuff to do early, like I said. And…uh…anyway, I didn't bring my toothbrush!" he chuckled. "Can't stay the night without that."

"O…K," said Harley, slowly. "Well, can you bring your toothbrush tomorrow night? And maybe…some other stuff to keep here, if you wanna start staying over regularly."

Jack turned to look at her. "There's no need to get that serious yet, is there?" he asked, smiling.

"I…guess not," said Harley, in obvious disappointment. "Are you saying…what we done ain't serious?"

"No, no, no, toots, that's not what I meant at all," he said hastily, coming over to kiss her. "I'm very serious about you, you know that…"

"Well, you're acting kinda funny," she said. "And not the kinda funny I enjoy."

She studied him carefully, staring into his eyes. "What is it?" she murmured, taking his hand. "Tell me the truth. Please."

He took a deep breath. "I…just have something pretty big to tell you, is all."

"What?" she asked.

He locked eyes with her. "I…" he began. "Love you," he finished.

Harley stared at him. "What?" she repeated.

"I love you," he repeated.

"That's it?" she asked.

"Ain't that enough?" he chuckled.

"Jesus Christ, Mr. J, I was expecting something horrible after all that buildup!" exclaimed Harley, grabbing a pillow and hitting him with it. "I was thinking you were married or seeing someone else or…"

"Hey, baby, I would never two-time you!" he chuckled. "I ain't that kinda guy! You honestly can't tell I'm crazy about you? Must be a pretty crap shrink!"

"Shut up!" retorted Harley, hitting him with the pillow again and grinning. "I love you too, Mr. J," she murmured.

They kissed tenderly. "But I do actually have an early appointment tomorrow, so I gotta go," said Jack. "But I'll call you tomorrow, ok?"

"Sure thing, puddin'," she said. "Love you."

"Love you," he breathed, kissing her again. "Sleep well, pumpkin pie."

Well, he had dodged a bullet there, he thought, as he headed down the stairs. Just barely, though. Harley wasn't an idiot – she was going to keep being suspicious as long as he kept acting funny, and she could eventually stumble upon something that would ruin everything if he didn't just come out and tell her the truth. But the thought of Harley finding out on her own wasn't quite as bad as the thought of telling her, of imagining the look on her face as her adoration turned to loathing. He couldn't bear that. He couldn't bear to lose her just yet. And he would if he told her the truth.

And it was always possible she wouldn't find out, as long as he was a bit more careful. Maybe if he started staying nights, he could insist that Sal called him during the day when Harley was out at work. She would never have to know.

Of course the realist in him knew that she did have to know eventually. But for now he silenced that voice and vowed to just enjoy himself. He wasn't about to end his fun so soon, and he and Harley were having a lot of fun. He just needed to focus on enjoying it while it lasted.


	6. Chapter 6

"Boys, this is Mr. Arthur Reeves," said Sal Valestra. "Attorney employed as Carl Beaumont's in-house counsel until his untimely disappearance. And now he's looking to build himself a political career, aren't you, Mr. Reeves?"

"That's right, sir," said Reeves, who sat in Sal Valestra's office with apparent calmness, but a keen observer could see sweat on his brow and his hands shaking slightly as they were clasped in his lap. He glanced around nervously at the three other gangsters who surrounded him, each one as intimidating as the others – Buzz Bronski, Chuckie Sol, and most intimidating of all, Jack Napier, who looked at Reeves with cold, glittering eyes and a strange smile, as if visualizing all the horrible things he could do to him, and being amused by it.

Sal smiled at Reeves. "Well, you've made a smart move coming to us. The real trick of succeeding in politics is to build useful connections, with people who can do favors for you, assuming you do them a little favor in return, of course."

Sal leaned back, blowing out a cloud of smoke and smiling. "Jack, where's your manners? Offer our guest a cigarette."

"No, thanks," said Reeves, as Jack reached into his coat. "I don't…uh…smoke. Thank you."

"So here's what I'm gonna do for you, Mr. Reeves," said Sal, leaning forward again. "I got some connections of my own in City Hall. A few councilmen and senators owe me some favors. I can have you set up with a job in one of their offices by next week, with orders to help you climb the political ladder. I'll keep a close eye on them and on you, making sure they encourage you to grow. If you can help me get my money back, of course."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," said Reeves, nodding gratefully. "And…it's just your money you want back, isn't it, sir? Not…anything else?"

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you mean, Mr. Reeves," said Sal, still smiling.

"Well, you won't…you won't…hurt Carl, or Andrea?" asked Reeves.

Sal blew out another cloud of smoke. "Mr. Reeves, I'm a man of business. And my business is to make money and connections for me and my associates. Carl took advantage of my business, and then skipped town. After everything I did for him, took him under my wing, treated him like a brother, and he treats me like garbage. But I ain't the kinda man who holds a grudge, or seeks vendettas. I just want my business to remain financially stable. You help me get my money back, and justice will be served. That's it."

Reeves nodded slowly. "I just…don't want anyone to get hurt. Especially not Andrea."

"Yeah, hot little piece, ain't she?" asked Sal, grinning. "Jack always thought so, didn't you, Jack?"

"Wouldn't have said no," agreed Jack. "But I guess I could never hope to compete with a billionaire. Classy dame like that's gonna go after money, and not her Daddy's junior employee."

Reeves glared at him. "You heard Mr. Valestra - I'm getting a new job soon," he retorted. "A whole new career."

"Yeah, nothing the dames love more than a politician!" chuckled Jack. "That's what every little girl dreams of marrying when they grow up!"

"I guess we'll see, won't we, Mr. Napier?" snapped Reeves.

"I guess we will," agreed Jack, nodding and giving Reeves his chilling smile. Reeves shuddered, turning back to Sal.

"Carl's hiding out in a villa on the French Riviera – I can give you the address. He has me wire money to him sometimes, money that I take outta the company for him, y'know. He also tells me what to do with the company's finances – he's trying to keep investing, to build up enough money to pay you back, but it'll take him years, decades even. I figure you don't wanna wait that long."

"Patience ain't one of my virtues, no," agreed Sal. "Thank you, Mr. Reeves. You leave the address on my desk, and you'll receive a phone call about your new career before the week is out."

Reeves nodded, picking up a pen and scribbling something down on a piece of paper. Sal glanced at it, and nodded. "Buzz, Chuckie, please escort our dear friend Mr. Reeves back to his temporary office. And buy him some lunch before you do. He's earned it."

Buzz and Chuckie nodded, heading for the door with Reeves following them. When the door shut after them, Sal dropped his smile and turned to Jack. "Here," he said, thrusting the paper at him. "Go there, get the money, kill Carl, but leave the girl. She ain't got nothing to do with this. Have some fun with her if you wanna, but it goes against my ethics to kill someone as pretty as that for no reason."

"Thanks, Sal, but I got a girlfriend now," retorted Jack. "And I doubt she'd approve of me doing anything like that."

"Well, what she don't know won't hurt her!" chuckled Sal. "C'mon, Jack, you actually telling me you'd pass up a fine opportunity like that when your girl's thousands of miles away?"

Jack shrugged. "We all got our own ethics. And mine don't approve of cheating."

"Fine, then leave the Beaumont girl alone, see if I care," retorted Sal. "That's what I get for being generous – ingratitude. Just kill Carl when she's out shopping or something. But I won't wait any longer to get my money back. I want you down in France pronto. Might take a little time for you to find the place, and to find an opportunity for doing what needs to be done, so the sooner you're there, the better."

Jack nodded slowly. "Sure, boss, no problemo," he said. But it was a problem, he thought, as he pocketed the address. He had no idea what he was going to tell Harley about why he suddenly had to leave the country, and why he didn't know when exactly he'd be back. The vague excuse of "business" wouldn't work with a gal like Harley. He needed to be very, very careful when he told her tonight.

He knocked on the door to her apartment and she opened it, beaming. "Hi, puddin', c'mon in," she said, kissing him tenderly.

"Smells like something's burning," he said as he entered the apartment. "Hope it ain't dinner."

"No, it shouldn't be," said Harley, glancing at her watch. "The steaks have got another ten minutes to go. But I guess I'll check on them just in case…"

She headed into the kitchen and opened the oven, and black smoke instantly began billowing out. Harley choked and coughed as she tried to grab the tray out of the oven, while Jack fanned the smoke away from the smoke detector.

"Aw, crap!" Harley shouted, slamming the tray onto the counter to reveal blackened and charred steaks. "How could this have happened?! I followed the instructions in the cookbook to the letter!"

She whirled around to face Jack, tears of frustration in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, I've ruined dinner! I thought even idiots can cook so I should be able to manage it, but I can't! I'm dumber than an idiot! I'm…"

Jack silenced her, seizing her in his arms and kissing her fiercely. "You are the smartest, most beautiful, most talented girl I've ever met," he murmured. "And also the worst cook," he added, grinning.

"Shut up, Mr. J," snapped Harley, but she smiled and kissed him again.

"Mmm, you wanna just skip dinner and go straight to bed?" he murmured, continuing to kiss her.

"Ain't you hungry?" she murmured, grinning.

"I am," he agreed. "For my little Harley pie."

"Mr. J, you are so naughty!" she giggled, shutting her eyes and beaming as he kissed down her neck. "But I _am_ kinda hungry…"

"I'll order us another Chinese takeaway right after, how about that?" he asked.

"Deal," she whispered, shoving her mouth into his as he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.


	7. Chapter 7

"Mmm, you gotta pass on my compliments to Mr. Valestra," said Harley as she picked at the remains of the takeaway carton with chopsticks. She had thrown on Jack's shirt, which swallowed her, as she and Jack lounged on the sofa together after dinner. Jack cuddled her, dressed in his pants and undershirt. "He does a mean Chinese takeaway."

"Yeah, I…will," said Jack, slowly, suddenly being unpleasantly reminded of his impending trip. He cleared his throat. "Hey, Harley, uh…I kinda got…something to tell ya."

"Sure," she said, putting down the carton. "What is it?"

"It's…something you maybe should have a little more wine for," he said, reaching for the bottle on the table and refilling her glass.

"That bad, huh?" she asked with a grin.

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding. "I gotta…go away for a little while."

Harley's grin fell into a frown. "Away?" she repeated. "Why? Where?"

"Business," he said. "Work's sending me to Europe. To the French Riviera, in fact."

"Your business can afford to fly people to Europe?" asked Harley, puzzled. "I thought you said you were a small company."

"Yeah, we are," he agreed. "But these are some very important clients we got in France, and the boss insists on me seeing 'em in person."

"Oh," said Harley. "Ok. How long will you be gone?"

"Uh…not sure exactly," said Jack. "Probably no more than a couple weeks…"

"Probably?" repeated Harley. "You don't know how long this business is gonna take?"

"No, it all depends on how…cooperative the other party is," said Jack. "Shouldn't be too long, though."

Harley nodded slowly. "Lotta…stylish, attractive women in France, ain't there?" she asked, casually.

"Baby, don't tell me you're seriously worried about that!" chuckled Jack, kissing her affectionately. "My Harley girl's the only girl for me, you know that, pooh bear."

Harley nodded again. "Maybe I do know that. But you are hiding something from me, Mr. J. If it ain't that, what is it?"

"I'm not hiding anything!" he laughed. "You got such a suspicious mind, pooh," he said, kissing her forehead.

"Can't you even tell me what this business you gotta do in France is?" she asked.

He gazed back at her pleading, blue eyes, and nodded slowly. "Ok. Ok, I will. But…uh…have some more wine first, and I will too," he said, grabbing his glass and draining it in one gulp. He cleared his throat. "See, the thing is, kid, I may not have been…entirely honest with you about my job. Or at least, I haven't told you the whole truth…"

Harley just continued to look at him expectantly, although he saw that the hand holding her wineglass was shaking slightly. He cleared his throat again. "See, the thing is…the thing is…y'know, some guys have a skill in carpentry, and some guys are good at…I dunno, painting, but I think you should always use the talents you got to…uh…do the thing you're best at. And my particular skill…er…talent…y'know, the thing I'm best at is…uh…"

He looked at her, and then blurted out, "I'm a hitman."

Harley stared back at him, not comprehending what he had said. "You're a…what?" she gasped, stunned.

"I'm a hitman," he repeated. "I kill people for a living. That's my particular skill…my talent…the thing I'm good at…killing people."

Harley continued to stare back at him, and Jack watched as the shock in her eyes changed gradually into something he had never wanted to see there: fear.

"Oh…God," she gasped at last. "Oh God!" she repeated, standing up and backing away from him. "Oh God, you're a…a murderer!"

"Yeah, but it ain't so bad…" began Jack.

"Not so bad?!" shrieked Harley. "You kill people! And you don't think that's so bad?!"

"No, it ain't – I mean, it ain't such a big deal when you think about it…" he began.

"I can't believe what I'm hearing!" gasped Harley, tears rising to her eyes as fury joined fear in her face. "I just can't…not a big deal?! Can you even hear yourself, Jack?!"

"Honey, if you just sit down and let me explain…" he began.

"You can't explain!" she shrieked. "You can't just talk people outta thinking that murder ain't a big deal! God, why didn't you tell me sooner, Jack?!"

"Because I knew you'd react like this!" he exclaimed. "And I didn't want to lose you! I love you, Harley!"

She shut her eyes tightly. "Oh God, I knew this was too good to be true!" she whispered. "I knew you were too perfect – there had to be some kinda catch! This whole relationship was just too perfect, and I was too happy in it…I should have known it couldn't last…"

"Harley, baby, please try to be reasonable…" began Jack.

"I'm not the unreasonable one here!" she shrieked. "You are! You kill for a living and you think that's a perfectly fine thing to do! You don't even seem to have any remorse about it! Maybe I could sympathize if you did, if circumstances out of your control had pushed you into a life of crime, but you seem to think that _I'm_ the one in the wrong for being angry when my boyfriend reveals to me that he's a hitman! How could you do this to me, Jack?! How could you let me grow to care about you and…love you without telling me who you really are?!"

"You know who I really am!" he retorted. "I never hid that! Yeah, my job is killing people! And I enjoy my job, same as you, I ain't gonna lie! But I'm more than my job, and that's the man you fell in love with! The man who makes you laugh, the man who loves you madly, that's the guy you fell in love with, and that's who I am, Harley! Nothing about that has changed!"

She stared at him. "You can't seriously expect me to just be ok with this, can you?" she whispered. "You can't be deluded enough to think that I'll continue to be in a relationship with a man whose job is murdering people?"

"But baby, if you could just see things from my point of view…"

"I don't want to see things from the point of view of a murderer!" shrieked Harley. She pointed to the door. "Get out, Jack!" she shrieked. "Get out right now! And so help me, if I ever see you again, I'm calling the police! God, I can't believe you would do this! I can't believe you would get me to fall in love with you when you knew you were a murderer! That's the cruelest joke you ever could have played on me! But I guess I can't actually expect a man like you to have feelings!"

"Harley, I _do_ have feelings," said Jack. "You gotta believe that – I love you! I would never hurt you, baby…"

"No, just anybody else your boss told you to," she hissed. "I can't trust you, Jack. Not after this. I just want you to go."

"But baby…"

"Get out, Jack!" she shrieked.

Jack nodded slowly. He didn't even bother to ask for his shirt back – he just headed toward the door and grabbed his coat off the rack. "Harley, baby, please reconsider," he murmured, turning back to her. "Please just let me call you…"

"I have nothing more to say to you, Jack Napier," she snapped.

"But if we could just talk, if you could just calm down and listen, rationally…" he began.

"I'm not the irrational one here!" shrieked Harley. "You are! I am a certified psychiatrist who treats insanity! And you are…a liar, and a criminal, and a murderer! And that's all you'll ever be to me again!"

Jack stared back at her cold, angry eyes, and nodded. He opened the door and left her alone.

The moment he was gone, Harley burst into tears, collapsing onto the sofa and sobbing into the pillows. Her whole world had come crashing down - her whole wonderful, perfect relationship was a lie, and the man she had loved was a liar. She felt hurt and betrayed and now terribly alone. She drew Jack's shirt tighter around her, and the scent of him gave her mixed, simultaneous feelings of joy and agony – it reminded her of her adoring love for him and his terrible betrayal of her. She had never loved anybody as she had loved Jack, and now that his image was shattered forever in her mind, she had a horrible feeling she never would again.

Jack heard her sobbing from outside the door, and he felt his own heart shattering. He made his way slowly down the steps, trying to think of some way to fix this mess before he left for France. He was sure if Harley just listened to him, if she just put aside her prejudices about crime and killing and just let him explain, she would be reasonable enough to see his side of the story. But he wasn't going to give up on her or their relationship just yet. Jack had also never loved anybody the way he loved Harley before – it was a kind of wonderful madness. And he wasn't prepared to return to sanity just yet.


	8. Chapter 8

Harley didn't sleep that night. She had dressed for bed, taking off Jack's shirt and pulling on her pajamas instead, and then throwing Jack's shirt into the trash. Then she crawled under the covers and curled up, but sleeping was fairly impossible. The bed was too big with just her in it, and she felt cold, but with nobody to roll over and cuddle against. Nobody to pull her close and make her feel safe and warm in his arms…

In the arms of a murderer, she reminded herself, coldly. Maybe she missed the companionship and intimacy of her relationship, but she shouldn't be missing Jack. He had lied to her, and he was the worst of men. She could do so much better.

The hours passed and she lay awake in the darkness. At last, she got out of bed and went over to the trash, grabbing Jack's shirt out of it and climbing back into bed. She cuddled it close, breathing in the scent of him and trying to squeeze out his warmth from it. It wasn't _him_ she missed, she reminded herself, just the closeness of another person. She could find a better man than him. There were millions of guys out there better than a hitman.

After a sleepless night, she got up the next morning to go put some makeup on for work to hide the dark circles under her eyes. She stared back in the mirror at her lifeless face, her eyes dull and red from crying all night. "It will get better," she said to herself, firmly. "I shouldn't be the one feeling bad, after all – _he_ lied to me."

She wondered what he was doing this morning – probably getting ready for his horrible business in France. She couldn't imagine he felt any guilt about the upcoming murder or any remorse for having lied to her – a man like that clearly didn't have feelings. It was good she found out when she did, she thought, before her feelings for the monster could get any deeper.

She also wondered whether she should call the police and try to prevent this murder, but she honestly didn't think she would be very helpful in doing that. She didn't know where Jack lived – they had always gone back to hers after dates, and stayed over at hers in the evenings. She didn't even know who he worked for, or who was the target of the hit. There was really nothing she could do to prevent it, unless Jack came back. And she definitely didn't want him to.

She dressed, had a miserable breakfast alone, and then grabbed her bag and headed for the door. She left the apartment, turned to lock the door…and was immediately grabbed from behind and had a cloth forced over her nose and mouth. She struggled instinctively, but her cries were muffled by the cloth, which smelled strongly of chloroform. In a few moments her strength failed as her brain became drowsy, her sight grew darker, and she blacked out.

…

Harley opened her eyes at last with her brain still feeling fuzzy. She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious, nor where she was, she thought, as her eyes gradually adjusted to the dark shadows surrounding her. She was lying on a pile of blankets, and had more piled on top of her, but she shivered as she realized the air around her was cold. And she thought she could hear, surrounding her, the lapping sound of water.

Then she noticed a figure sitting next to her, a familiar figure smoking a cigarette and gazing down at her tenderly. "Jack!" she gasped, sitting up suddenly to try to back away from him.

"Glad you're awake – was afraid I'd given you too much chloroform and knocked you out for a week!" he chuckled. "Gotta admit, drugging people to knock 'em out ain't usually my style, so I don't have a lotta experience with it."

"Where am I? Why have you kidnapped me? What are you going to do to me?" she demanded, half-angry and half-terrified.

"Easy, toots, calm down," he said, gently. "I ain't gonna do anything to you. Nothing that you don't want me to, anyway. I told you, I ain't that kinda guy."

"Except I didn't want you to kidnap me, and you did that!" snapped Harley. "You _are_ that kinda guy, I guess?!"

"I just wanted you to listen to me, and I knew you wouldn't any other way," he said. "I just wanna talk to you, to explain my side of the story…"

"I don't have to listen to a word you say!" she shrieked. "And I won't! I'm gonna…I'm gonna call the police…"

"You won't be getting any phone reception here, toots!" chuckled Jack.

"Why not? Where am I?" she demanded, looking around at the shadowy room. It appeared to be some sort of warehouse, because it was stuffed full of huge shipping crates and boxes. Harley involuntarily pulled the blanket closer around her as another chill shot through her body, and her breath showed in the frosty air. Some warehouse down by the docks, she thought, hearing the waves constantly breaking near her…

"You are in the cargo hold of the _SS Persephone_ , bound for France," replied Jack, blowing out a cloud of smoke and smiling at her.

She stared at him, stunned into incomprehension again. "You've kidnapped me…and now you're dragging me to France with you?" she whispered.

He nodded. "The voyage is about a week – figured that'd give us enough time to talk and sort stuff out. And then we can enjoy our time in France together, y'know, as a couple. All women wanna see France – figured that could be a good upside for you to make up for the whole kidnapping thing. Anyway, all gals want a boyfriend who takes 'em places, don't they?"

"You are not my boyfriend!" shrieked Harley. "And I am beyond furious that you've not only kidnapped me, but you're dragging me off to some foreign country without my knowledge and against my will! I don't trust you not to…to assault me, or…kill me there, or…"

"Harley, don't say that," he interrupted, looking as if she had just stabbed him in the heart. "I would never hurt you, you know that, baby."

"But kidnapping me and dragging me to France is fine?!" she shrieked.

"I just want you to listen to me, baby," he said. "Please. You have to hear me out. I just…can't bear to lose you, not like this, not with you hating me and thinking of me as…as…"

"A monster?" suggested Harley. "Because that _is_ how I think of you, Jack! Especially after you've gone and done a thing like this!"

Jack nodded slowly, still looking hurt. "You're…uh…still upset, so…I'll leave you alone for now," he said, standing up. "Gonna go steal some food from the upper decks – I'll bring you back something nice to eat. And some more blankets – it gets chilly down here and I don't want you to be uncomfortable. I mean, it ain't first class accommodation, but it's better when you're going on a hit not to leave a paper trail the cops can follow, so sneaking in with the luggage is usually best. Not that you're gonna be out on the hit with me – I'm gonna get you a nice hotel room, and some nice new clothes when we get to France, and anything else you want."

"I want to go home!" hissed Harley.

He shook his head. "Sorry, toots, can't do that yet. But I'm gonna do everything I can to see that you're happy and comfortable while you're away from home, and all I ask in return is that you hear me out. That's all I want from you, toots. To listen."

She glared at him. "Why should I do anything for you after you treat me like this?" she snapped.

"Because…I think you still love me," he murmured. "Don't you?"

"You think I could love somebody who did this to me?!" shrieked Harley. "I'm not crazy, Jack, even if you are!"

"I thought you were…crazy in love with me," he said, softly.

"You thought wrong!" snapped back Harley, coldly. "And the moment you leave me alone, I'm going to scream…"

"Nobody's gonna hear you down here, toots," he interrupted. "And I'm locking the door behind me. You're not getting outta this cargo hold, and even if you could, you can't leave the ship until it docks. You're trapped here for now, so you might as well listen to me when I get back. At least it'll give you something to do."

He headed for the door, and then slammed and locked it behind him without another word. Harley stood up, instantly looking around for some way to escape the cargo hold, but Jack had left by the only door. She looked around the boxes and crates for something to break the lock with, but unhelpfully, the ship appeared to be transporting mostly fabrics – rugs and clothes, mainly - which weren't helpful in her attempts to escape.

At last she gave up, curling up in the blankets and trying to warm herself and hold back tears. Jack still hadn't returned after what seemed like hours, and the cold and crying began to take its toll on her energy. She dropped off to sleep at last to the soothing sounds of the waves breaking against the hold as the _SS Persephone_ carried them both further away from Gotham City.


	9. Chapter 9

Harley awoke to the gentle rocking of the ship, the soft, regular splashes of the waves against the hull, and the warmth of a loving embrace. She snuggled deeper into the arms that held her, the safe, warm, comforting arms of the man she loved…

And then she remembered with a start that she didn't love him, that he had lied to her and kidnapped her, and she sat up suddenly in a cloud of fury.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" she shrieked, to see Jack curled up asleep next to her.

"Mmm, sleeping and keeping warm," he murmured, his eyes still shut. "Which is what you should be doing…"

"You have no right to sleep next to me, or hold me, or touch me in any way!" she shouted.

"You weren't objecting a few seconds ago," he retorted, opening his eyes.

"I was half-asleep, and had forgotten…what you are!" snapped Harley.

"And what am I?" he demanded, sitting up.

She glared coldly back at him. "You're a criminal," she hissed. "A lying, kidnapping, murdering criminal, and a monster."

"God dammit, Harley, stop talking to me like that!" he roared, raising a fist.

"So much for you never hurting me," she sneered.

"You think you can stab me repeatedly in the heart with every word you say, and expect me just to control my temper?" he demanded. "I'm not the kinda guy who takes violence without fighting back!"

"So why don't you just kill me, the way you do everyone else who annoys you?" she demanded.

"Because I love you, you little idiot!" he roared. "I love you…"

He trailed off, lowering his fist slowly. "You got a funny way of showing it," retorted Harley.

"So do you, you little brat!" he snapped.

"I don't love you!" she shrieked. "I can't love a criminal and a murderer!"

"So what you felt for me only a few days ago is dead now, is it?" he demanded. "Of the two of us, toots, you must really be the cold, callous one to be able to kill your feelings so quickly."

"Jack, you can't honestly think that we have any kinda future together?" she demanded. "I can't be with someone like you!"

"Why not?" he asked.

"Why not?" she repeated, incredulously. "Because I'm a decent human being with a sense of morality and ethics…"

"And you think I ain't that, is that it?" he demanded. "You think I ain't got morality and ethics?"

"I don't see how you can, to kill people for money!" she shrieked.

"Well, that don't bother my ethics," he said, shrugging. "But I got my own code of honor. This guy I'm gonna kill, he's got a daughter, attractive dame which my boss suggested I have a little fun with, but I ain't gonna do that because it'd be wrong…"

"So you're trying to impress me by telling me you're refraining from raping a woman?" asked Harley. "As if that's some noble act on your part rather than just common decency?"

"I'm not trying to impress you," he retorted. "I'm just telling you the truth. And I wouldn't do anything to her even if she was willing. I wouldn't betray you like that."

"So your ethics don't approve of cheating, but they approve of killing?" asked Harley.

"Yes," he said, seriously. "That's right. Morality is largely arbitrary – mine's just a little different from the norm."

"You're crazy," retorted Harley.

"Maybe," he said. "But how bad a shrink must you be not to have figured that out sooner if I am?"

Harley glared at him but said nothing. "I brought you some food," he said. "But you were already asleep when I got back, and I didn't wanna wake you. So I guess it's breakfast."

"I don't want to eat anything you've stolen," she retorted.

"Then I guess you're gonna starve," he replied, heading over to a bag he had brought with him and pulling out a gas canister. He turned the screw to get the gas flowing, and then used his cigarette lighter to create a flame. He picked up the plate of food he had stolen and began heating it over the flame, and Harley gradually came closer to the small fire, lured by the warmth and the smell of cooking food.

"We're stuck down here for a week?" she muttered.

"Little less," he retorted. "The chloroform knocked you out a good twenty-four hours, and you slept most of today too."

"That's still more time than I wanna spend in this pit," she muttered. "Or with you."

"You wouldn't have objected a couple days ago," he retorted. "You woulda said anywhere in the world would be paradise, as long as we were together. Even this pit. There's no place I'd rather be, anyway, as long as you're with me. Even though you are in a cranky mood."

"Jack, I hate to break it to you, but this mood just isn't gonna pass," retorted Harley. "My feelings for you were over the moment I found out you were a criminal, and they sure haven't returned with you kidnapping me."

"Harley, you gotta understand my position," he said. "I can't help who I am. And I love you too much to just give you up without even trying to change your mind. You're a shrink, and you're supposed to be a good listener. Can't you just listen to what I have to say?"

He offered her the plate of food, and Harley took it, shrugging. "I suppose I don't have anything better to do."

Jack beamed. "Ok," he said, settling down opposite her. "Now you gotta try to put aside any prejudices you already got about killing…"

"You mean how it's wrong?" she asked, sarcastically.

"Yeah," he said. "Right, wrong, those ain't helpful ideas. Those are concepts we teach kids, but when we grow up, we realize that telling one from the other can sometimes be pretty hard. And arbitrary – stealing is wrong, but stealing for a good cause can be right…"

"So you kill for a good cause, is that what you're trying to say?" asked Harley, sarcastically.

"Well, earning a living is a good cause for me!" he chuckled. "And no, I ain't saying that. I'm not some noble avenger who only kills bad people or anything like that. But I want you to just stop and think for a moment, and ask yourself why you think killing is wrong."

"Because everyone deserves to live…" began Harley.

"No, they don't," he interrupted. "Nobody deserves anything, and they certainly don't deserve life just because they happened to be born. Life's just like anything else – you waste it, and you don't deserve to have it. And most people do waste their lives, toots, going about trying to horde wealth or compete with other people or tear each other down. Most people live meaningless little lives, and ending them is no more tragic than crushing a bug."

"I don't think that's for you to judge," retorted Harley.

"Maybe not," he said, shrugging. "Which is why I don't judge. I just follow the orders I'm given. My boss Sal Valestra's the one who judges who I need to kill."

"So he doesn't own a Chinese takeaway?" asked Harley, sarcastically.

"Nah, but they do pay him protection money, so I guess in a manner of speaking, he does," said Jack.

"And this person you're going to kill in France, have they wasted their life?" asked Harley. "Do they deserve to die?"

"Yeah, they really do!" chuckled Jack. "Double-crossed Sal, for one, which is a really dumb thing to do. If you're gonna be stupid with your life, you don't deserve to have it. This guy built his fortune off the hard work of other people, and by crushing competing corporations into the ground. He's destroyed a lotta lives with his actions, so forgive me if I don't feel particularly bad for taking his."

"Do you feel bad about anything?" asked Harley.

He nodded slowly. "I feel bad that I hid what I was from you. I shoulda told you on the first day, but I was afraid of scaring you off. I don't wanna lose you, Harley. And I think you can understand and accept who I am, if you just try."

"If I try to forget my own morality and ethics, is that what you're saying?" she asked. "I won't ever do that, Jack."

He was silent. "Ok, kid," he said, gently. "You don't have to. If you can't come round to my point of view, I'll come round to yours."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Just…if you can't accept me for who I am, I'm willing to change myself for you," he said. "After this hit, when we get back to Gotham, I'll tell Sal I quit. I'll try to get a decent, honest job, and I'll never hurt anyone again if you don't want me to."

Harley looked at him. "You would do that for me?" she asked, quietly.

"I would do anything for you, Harley," he said, sincerely. "Anything. Except let you go."

Harley couldn't deny that she was touched by his sentiment. If she could believe him, of course, she reminded herself. The man was obviously an excellent liar – he had lied to her before, and could be doing so again. A man like that could say anything and not mean it. And saying he was going to give up a life of crime for her was a completely different thing than actually doing it.

She nodded slowly at last. "If you really love me, Jack…you won't kill this man."

"If I don't, Sal will be after my blood," retorted Jack. "Our blood. I won't put you in danger like that, Harley. He's already threatened you to my face – I won't spare this guy's life only to lose yours."

"I can't love a murderer," she retorted. "I need you to prove to me that you can change. I'm willing to help you get better, to give you this chance, but you gotta not do this hit. It'll be the first step in winning back my trust. Please."

Jack slowly shook his head. "I can't, Harley. You don't know what Sal's like – he would hunt you down and kill you just to hurt me. Even if you left Gotham, even if you ran all the way to the other side of the world. Sal don't let distance get in the way of his revenge, as Carl's gonna find out very shortly."

"It's your choice, Jack," said Harley, shrugging. "You kill this guy, and I will never speak to you again. But you spare him, and we may, and I stress the may part, have a chance at reconciliation. You decide which is more important to you – your job, or the woman you claim to love."

"Harley, I do love you," he said. "That's why I gotta do this hit – Sal will hurt you…"

"And you will lose me," interrupted Harley.

He looked at her. "At least you'll still be alive," he murmured. "Even if we won't ever be together again…your life is more important than my happiness."

He grinned. "Y'see? I do love you, kid," he murmured, reaching for a pack of cards in his bag.

He lit a cigarette and dealt himself a game of solitaire. Harley watched him play, devouring the rest of her meal in silence.


	10. Chapter 10

"Gin!" exclaimed Harley, throwing down her cards triumphantly.

Jack swore loudly, throwing down his cards in frustration and grabbing one of the bottles of scotch had brought with him from his bag, taking a large gulp from it.

"Dammit, kid!" he snapped. "That's eight hands in a row!"

"Guess I'm just lucky," retorted Harley, smiling at him. She had no idea how long she had been in the cargo hold with him - the days had all blended together She didn't know how long it was until they docked, or if it was even daytime or nighttime right now. And she was still very angry with him, but sitting in sullen silence hadn't been a great way to pass the time, so she had finally asked Jack to teach her some card games. And she had turned out to be a natural at gin rummy, which had put her in a much better mood because she just kept winning. Well, that and the scotch, which Jack and she had been sharing to keep warm.

She took the bottle from him and took a gulp herself. "God, I got a feeling I'm gonna regret this in the morning," she said, making a face. "Or whatever time I wake up tomorrow. I'm not much of a drinker, but anything's better than freezing. Shame you couldn't have let me dress in some warm clothes before you kidnapped me."

"Would've spoiled the surprise!" chuckled Jack. "But if it's warm clothes you want, let's have a rummage around these crates."

"Why is France even importing clothes?" asked Harley. "Don't they make clothes there? Isn't it like the hub of fashion?"

"It's cheaper to ship 'em from China, through Gotham, to France," retorted Jack. "That way the companies only have to pay Chinese labor prices, which are pennies at best. They're practically slaves. And yet I bet some of your clothes are made in China."

"What's your point?" asked Harley.

"My point is everyone is complicit in crime and immorality, whether they know it or not," retorted Jack. "Everybody does bad things just by existing. So there's no need to judge those of us who make a profit by it so harshly."

Harley knew there was no use arguing with him, so she didn't. But she felt little compunction as she and Jack broke open the crates, rummaging around for something warm and decent-looking for Harley to wear.

"There you go," he said, tossing a black beret at her. "Most body heat is lost through the head. Get a nice hat on and you'll feel warm in no time."

"Think I'd prefer the sweater," said Harley, pulling out a red one.

"Why not both?" he asked. Harley nodded, bundling up in the sweater and then adjusting the beret on her head.

"Do I look French?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, shrugging. "Although hang on…"

He lit a cigarette and handed it to her. "There you go. Ain't that the stereotype?"

"Yeah," said Harley, holding it between her fingers. "Guess we'll get to see if it's true, though. Gotta say, never thought I'd be going to France anytime soon. I guess that's kinda a nice surprise, even if the circumstances of me going ain't very nice."

She inhaled from the cigarette and then choked, coughing on the smoke. Jack handed her the bottle of scotch to wash out the taste. "Do you speak French?" asked Harley, after she had recovered from her coughing fit.

Jack shook his head. "Nah, not a word. Should be fine, though – won't be casually going up to strangers to ask them directions to the guy I need to kill anyway!" he chuckled.

"Still, if you wanna not draw attention to yourself, you should at least try to blend in," retorted Harley.

"Do _you_ speak French?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No more than I learned in French 101 my first year of college."

"That's still more than me," he said, puffing on his cigarette. "I'd like to hear you speak it, if you remember any of it."

"Aside from _bonjour_ and _merci_ , I really don't," said Harley. "I mean, I can do a comedy French accent…"

"So can I!" chuckled Jack. "But I bet yours is better than mine."

Harley shrugged, taking a drag on her cigarette and controlling her coughing this time. " _Bonjour, Monsieur_ Napier," she said, in an exaggerated French accent. "And what brings you to _la belle France_ this fine day?"

"Oh God, that's cute," he chuckled, beaming at her. "I'm here to kill a guy, toots."

"Kill?" repeated Harley in the accent, raising her eyebrows. "Ah, _mais non_! _C'est_ bad, _Monsieur_ Napier! Bad, bad, bad!"

"Yeah, well, I'm a bad man, toots," he murmured. "And don't you French girls like that?"

"Per'aps some do," retorted Harley. "But not women of taste, _Monsieur_ Napier, as I so obviously am. As you can see by my clothes and sense of fashion," she said, gesturing to herself.

"Yeah, you're a classy dame," he agreed. "Sure you don't want a little taste of a bad boy?"

"As a French woman, I am not interested in boys," said Harley, tapping her cigarette out. "I am interested in men. And not criminal men – good, 'onest, decent gentlemen."

"You sure that's what you want?" he asked.

" _Oui_ ," retorted Harley, firmly.

"You positive?" he pressed, drawing closer to her.

" _Oui_ ," she repeated, smiling at him. But suddenly the game of pretend seemed strangely real – he was right there in front of her, his body close, his gorgeous eyes gazing down at her with real adoration and desire. She felt his hands steal around her body, and she flinched, but didn't draw away as he slowly tilted her face up to his.

And then he kissed her, and she responded instantly, every fiber in her body burning with a desperate need for him. Her rational mind was temporarily silenced by the alcohol, drowning her inhibitions, but it raised a feeble voice of protest as she gently pulled away.

"This…ain't such a good idea," she whispered, in her normal accent.

"I know," he murmured, gazing at her. "Tell me to stop."

He had seized her in his arms again, pressing kisses on her, and the last thing Harley wanted him to do was stop. She shut her eyes and her reason off and returned his kisses, enjoying the sensations of her body as Jack gently pressed her down on the floor. He was a criminal, and a murderer, but right now, she didn't care about any of that. He was the man she loved, and that was all that mattered.


	11. Chapter 11

Harley awoke to a throbbing headache and the pain of a massive hangover. Her vision swam as she looked around the shadows, trying to remember why she had been drinking. And then it all came flooding back suddenly, and she sat up in dread to see that neither she nor Jack were wearing any clothes, cuddled naked together under a pile of blankets.

"Oh God, no!" she gasped.

"Good morning to you too, baby," he murmured.

"No, no, no," repeated Harley, horrified, as she looked around for her clothes and dressed hastily. "No, no, no, I can't believe…I let that happen…what have I done?"

"Well, me," retorted Jack, sitting up and looking offended. "Ain't the first time you've done that."

"But I…I shouldn't have…done this…we're not together…and you're a criminal!" she exclaimed.

"Oh God, you're still on about that?" asked Jack. "I thought this meant that you'd kinda forgiven me…"

"Forgiven you?!" repeated Harley. "For murder and kidnapping?! The only thing this meant is that I'm a complete idiot when I drink! It didn't mean anything else!"

Jack looked hurt. "How can you say that?" he asked, quietly.

"Because it's true!" she snapped. "I never should have done this, it was a huge mistake, I never should have encouraged you in any way into thinking you have some hope…"

"But I clearly do," he interrupted. "You clearly do still love me."

"I was drunk!" shrieked Harley. "I wasn't thinking…"

"Good!" he exclaimed. "Turn your brain off for once and just listen to your feelings for me! You do have 'em, however much you try to deny that to me and to yourself! If you don't follow your heart, toots, if you let your head control you all the time, you'll lose out on something really special. And you'll regret it forever."

"The only thing I regret right now is ever letting you into my life!" shrieked Harley. "And I will always regret that, Jack! I will always regret letting myself be taken in by a heartless criminal!"

Jack looked as if she had just stabbed him in the face, and opened his mouth to respond, when the sound of a ship's horn suddenly vibrated through the hull. "We're docking," said Jack, reaching for his clothes and dressing hurriedly. "We gotta hide and slip outta here when they're unloading the luggage…"

"I don't have to do anything of the kind," retorted Harley. "I'm a victim here, and the moment someone opens that door, I'm gonna tell them to get the police…"

"Yeah, so you can be arrested for stowing away too," retorted Jack, nodding. "I'm sure French prisons are lovely, especially this time of year. You can see them for yourself, or you can just stick with me and stay in a real nice hotel instead. If you head to the police, they're gonna wanna know a lotta details about the kidnapping and the hit, and who knows how long they'll detain you for questioning. Maybe until they catch me, which they never will. But you stay with me and you'll be back home in Gotham in a couple weeks, safe and sound."

Harley glared at him. "I won't be your prisoner, Jack. But I will stay with you, for now. Although you need to understand that we're not on some sort of couple's vacation together. There's going to be no frolicking on the beach, and there will most certainly not be a repeat of the huge mistake of last night."

"Yeah, I get it," he muttered. "No French wine for you. It makes you do crazy things, like me. Stick to grape soda, kid, whatever the hell that's called here."

He gathered up the remainder of his possessions into his bag. Harley threw the sweater and the beret of last night back into the crate, and then joined Jack in crouching behind it and waiting for the unloading to begin.

It was easy enough to slip out of the cargo hold in the hustle and bustle of the ship being unloaded. And Harley had to admit, her first impressions of the French Riviera were very favorable – the sky was a deep blue, and the warmth of the sun washed over her as the most wonderful feeling after being cooped up in the cold, chilly cargo hold for so long. People lay out on the beach, talking and laughing, and as they got further into town, the smells of fresh bread baking and the calls of seagulls flying overhead made her forget her circumstances in a very pleasant way.

And the hotel Jack had booked (under a false name, of course) was a luxurious building which offered every comfort to support the town's booming tourist industry. The room itself was huge, and offered a gorgeous view of the beach just below them.

"Sure you don't wanna frolic?" chuckled Jack, noticing her staring down at it in fascination and longing. "I'd love to see you emerge from the water in a dripping wet bikini, _Dr. No_ -style."

Harley turned to glare at him. "This isn't a joke, Jack," she retorted. "And we're not on vacation."

"We sure ain't," he said, glancing at his watch. "I gotta get to work – find the guy's address and start scouting out his schedule. Here," he said, handing her the spare key to the room. "You do what you wanna while I'm away. Stay here or go out – I trust you to come back."

"You trust me not to tell the police what you're here to do?" she demanded. "And get them to come here to wait for you?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "I do. You don't speak French, for one thing, so good luck telling 'em what I'm up to."

He winked at her and then left her alone. Harley sat down, fuming and conflicted. On the one hand, she should tell the police and prevent the hit from taking place. On the other, she wasn't sure who the target was aside from the vague name of Carl, which wasn't hugely helpful. The police might assume she was just playing a joke and not listen to her anyway. And she couldn't betray Jack like that, especially after she had already hurt him deeply by giving him false hope last night. Despite her insistence to the contrary, she did still have feelings for him, and even though a man's life was at stake, somehow she didn't have the heart to turn Jack over to the police here, who might do worse than arrest him.

And she was also slightly scared by what Jack had told her about Sal Valestra. If she turned Jack over to the police and he didn't complete the hit, it was entirely possible that she'd be killed the moment she got back to Gotham by his angry boss as punishment for his failure. The right thing to do, of course, was to save an innocent life whatever the cost to her own…or maybe it wasn't. And Jack had said the guy he was going to kill wasn't innocent, that he was a heartless businessman…but of course Jack might be lying again…

She honestly didn't know what to do. She didn't know right from wrong at this point. Jack was right about that at least – they were hard to tell apart sometimes.

She watched the people down below on the beach playing in the waves, innocent people with innocent, uncomplicated lives, and envied them. It seemed like her life had been forever tainted by crime and darkness and murder, and she had a horrible feeling that she'd never feel innocent again.


	12. Chapter 12

"That dress is really stunning on you," said Jack. "You look absolutely beautiful."

"Thank you for… _buying_ it for me," retorted Harley.

"I did buy it," he snapped. "Paid for it fair and square from a shop down the road."

"With dirty money," agreed Harley. "I'm only wearing it because this restaurant has a dress code, and I think my work clothes might look out of place."

Jack sighed heavily and drained his wine glass. He had hoped that as the days passed, Harley might have a better attitude about this whole trip. But she was really determined to make them both miserable on it.

There had been times when her mood had softened, sometimes when they had walked along the beach together, or along the streets of the town, she had really seemed to be enjoying herself out in the fresh air, among a different culture and people. But then she would notice him again and her smile would always fade and her face turn hard and cold. It was torture to Jack, but he didn't know what he could do about it. He treated her with everything money could buy, but she didn't seem interested in presents.

He cleared his throat. "Got some good news. We'll be heading home to Gotham tomorrow evening."

Harley looked at him in shock. "Your…business is nearly completed, then?" she asked, coldly.

"Should be by tomorrow evening," he agreed, nodding. "So you'd better enjoy your last night in France. Maybe you wanna go dancing after dinner?"

"I think I'd just like to go back to the hotel," murmured Harley.

"Ok, whatever you want, sweets," he said, in slight disappointment. "Wine?" he asked, holding up the bottle. "It's really good here."

"No, thank you," she retorted. "Don't want to drink again, not after last time."

Jack sighed heavily. "Harley, please," he said, taking her hand. "Tell me what I can do to help."

"You can't help," snapped Harley, glaring at him. "You kidnap me, and drag me here in order to kill a man, a man whose life I am powerless to save, and even if I could, would result in me losing my own life, and you think I should just be happy and cheerful about that, do you?"

"I think you should just try to enjoy your time here," he said. "Even if the circumstances aren't the best, you should try to put on a happy face and a good attitude and seize the day…"

"I'm sorry that you're actually so heartless, Jack, that the thought of murdering a man doesn't affect you at all," interrupted Harley. "But for some of us, the idea is fairly shocking, and makes cheerfulness pretty impossible."

"But Harley, you can't let the thought of other people ruin our time together…" he began.

"I can when they're going to die because of you," retorted Harley. "There is no _our_ time together, Jack. We're not a couple. You are a criminal and a murderer, and I am somebody you've forced to be party to your crimes. You've dragged me into this, and you've made me culpable if the police ever find out. How can you claim to love me after that?"

"Well…the police _ain't_ gonna find out!" chuckled Jack. "Not unless somebody tells 'em, and you won't because you'll be culpable, as you say. And I certainly won't, so why be afraid of the police? Or of anyone?"

He poured her a glass of wine. "Don't you understand, baby?" he murmured, pushing it gently toward her. "We're free."

Harley glared at him. "I don't feel free," she muttered. "I feel like your prisoner, pulled down with chains of guilt that are going to crush me under their weight one day."

He shook his head. "You ain't my prisoner. You're your own. You've chained yourself up in your mind with silly ideas like right and wrong, or what society thinks those are, anyway. And you've become a slave to them, and they're the chains that are gonna crush you one day. I'm trying to help you, to set you free…"

"By kidnapping me," she finished. "Yes, I can see that."

She shoved the glass away and stood up. "I'm ready to go back to the hotel now."

Jack sighed heavily. "Ok, I'll just get the bill," he said, raising a hand. Harley headed off without him, and he caught up with her a few moments later.

"Dangerous for a beautiful lady to walk in the dark on her own," he commented.

"Maybe in Gotham," agreed Harley. "But not here. There's clearly no crime here except what others bring with them," she said, looking at him coldly. "Anyway, the only person I'm afraid of walking in the dark is the man right next to me."

"Harley, please, stop this," he said, seizing her in his arms. "You don't know how much you're hurting me by saying things like that. You know I would never hurt you, baby…"

"I don't trust a word a man like you says," she interrupted.

"Have I hurt you in any way?" he demanded. "Have I laid a hand on you without your consent?"

Harley shook her head slowly. "No. You expecting me to thank you for acting like a decent person?"

"I'm trying to show you I _am_ a decent person," he murmured. "At least where you're involved. I just want you to see that. Please."

Harley glanced at him, and then looked toward the coast. "Let's go for a walk," she said. "I'm gonna miss the beach when we get home. The only beaches in Gotham are health hazards."

They walked along the water in silence. And Harley was the one to speak at last. "Jack?" she asked.

"Yeah?" he said, strolling along next to her and smoking.

"How did you get to be like this?" she asked. "What drove you to a life of crime?"

He shrugged. "Nothing drove me to it – it was work I could do and that I was good at, and it paid well. There's no tragic backstory that made me into a villain, because I ain't a villain, Harley."

He blew out a cloud of smoke. "Why?" he asked, grinning at her. "You hoping to cure me?"

"I don't think the best shrink alive could do that," she said. "You don't see yourself as sick, and you don't want to be cured."

"I could say the same about you," replied Jack. He paused, looking up at the moon. "I do remember…the first time I killed a guy, though."

"Yeah?" pressed Harley. "Tell me."

"I was just starting out, young, y'know," said Jack. "Never had a lot growing up, and the first guy I was sent to kill was loaded. Owned three mansions, two in Gotham and one abroad. Made his fortune investing in oil or something, I think. Not sure of the details, just sure that I had never seen so much wealth when I broke into his mansion. This guy had everything money could buy, things I hadn't even dreamed about because they were so outta my reach. He also had a family – nice-looking wife, kids…and he was in bed with some supermodel when I came to kill him. Well, not being a heartless guy, I let her go – she wasn't the target. It was this guy – he had crossed somebody big somewhere along the line. And I remember…how he looked curled up in his bed, sobbing and pleading and begging me to spare him. Promising me all his wealth, anything I wanted, anything he had to give, if I let him live."

He exhaled another cloud of smoke. "His life was that precious to him. He woulda given up everything he had worked for, all his wealth, all his money, probably his family if I'd asked him to, to spare his pathetic little life. It was brought home to me just looking at him, vulnerable and naked - this scared, small little man, despite all his money, despite all the things he had done, was nothing. His life was meaningless, everything he had, everything he had worked so hard to build, it meant nothing there at the end. He wasn't free, because to have everything means you live in fear of losing everything. And in the end, he really didn't have anything worth losing, not even his life."

He tapped out his cigarette. "I didn't feel bad for killing a guy like that, because he was nothing. A bug, a speck wiped from the pages of the universe like it was never there, leaving behind nothing that mattered, not even a trace. So many people are like that, Harley. You don't realize it until they see their own death in their eyes, and then you learn what cowardly, frightened, pathetic things people really are. It's not wrong to extinguish a dead candle. It's called cleaning up the trash."

"You're so callous," murmured Harley.

"Nah, I ain't," he said, turning to her. "I'm just telling you the truth. And I don't feel that way about you. I love you. You're a bright spark shooting across the night sky, while everyone else is dull, stationary little stars. Your laughter and your smile are so intoxicating, and they breathe in life, Harley. They relish it and cherish it. I adore that about you, your ability to live. To burn brightly even in the darkness."

He touched her cheek gently. "I think we're the same, you and me," he murmured. "I've never met anybody else who laughed at the richness of life, who lives brave and unafraid of the shadows. You can't blame me for being crazy about you."

Harley's heart pounded as his lips drew close to hers, but she pulled suddenly away. "Let's…go back to the hotel," she murmured.

Jack nodded in disappointment and they returned to their room in silence. They didn't speak as they dressed for bed in separate rooms, and then climbed into the large, king-size bed, where they lay on opposite sides, several feet from touching. "Goodnight, Harley," Jack whispered, turning out the light.

Harley rolled over to face away from him, looking out the window at the moonlight. Tears trickled down her face as she cried silently. Her feelings for Jack hadn't died, no matter how hard she tried to crush them. And she didn't know what to do about them.

She was sure if she gave it time, her feelings would eventually die and she would get over Jack. She just needed to get away from him, and then she would be free. When they were back in Gotham, back to their own, separate lives, she was sure things would return to the way they were before she met him. They just had to. She couldn't ever be with a murderer, and she couldn't have a life with a criminal – that was crazy.

The night sky outside her window was gorgeous, filled with thousands of stars. She would miss this in Gotham too – the crash of the waves on the beach, the silence, and the darkness of a night without the ugly light pollution of the city. Just her and the moon and the night stretching out before her in an endless carpet of stars.

She closed her eyes and just missed the sight of one of the stars streaking across the night sky.


	13. Chapter 13

Jack was gone when Harley woke up the next morning, before breakfast. Harley showered and dressed, and then headed out into the town to enjoy the last of the warm weather and sunshine, and the last of the local cuisine. French breakfasts were really different from American ones – usually a pastry and some meat and cheese would do, along with a delicious slice of French bread. The baguettes here were the most wonderful bread Harley had ever tasted, and they were something she was really going to miss in Gotham.

She was not going to miss the language barrier, however. While most of the French people in this region of tourists spoke English, some of them seemed to resent the very thought of using their non-native language. And one of these people was the baker at the boulangerie, who just glared at Harley contemptuously as she pointed to the baguette and stammered broken French words.

She was surprised when the woman behind her in line suddenly pushed forward and, in perfect French, ordered a baguette for Harley and two for herself, and then delivered a lecture to the baker for his appalling customer service.

"Oh… _merci_ ," said Harley as the woman handed her the baguette after they left the bakery together.

"Sorry about that – sometimes they're just rude for no reason," said the woman, smiling at her. "Talk about living up to the French stereotype!"

"Oh…you're not French?" asked Harley, surprised.

"Nah, American," she said. "As are you, judging from your accent. Where are you from?"

"Gotham City," replied Harley.

"Really? Me too!" said the woman, beaming at her. "What brings you to this part of France?"

"I'm just…uh…here on vacation," lied Harley. "What about you?"

"My Dad and I live here now," said the woman. "The weather and the scenery sure beat Gotham, but I can't say I don't miss the old place. And some…people in it," she said, softly. She forced a smile again. "Sorry, just a little…homesick."

"Me too," agreed Harley. "Why don't you move back if you miss Gotham so much?"

The woman shrugged. "We can't, really. Dad's…job…uh…he has to work here now. Just…business stuff, y'know."

"Sure," said Harley. "But I guess there are worse places to do business."

"That's true!" agreed the woman with a laugh. She held out her hand. "I'm Andrea Beaumont."

"Harleen Quinzel," said Harley. "But call me Harley – everyone does."

"Nice to meet you, Harley," said Andrea. "You here on vacation alone?"

"Uh…no," said Harley, slowly. "I'm here with my…boyfriend. But he's…asleep at the hotel. I just wanted to be out bright and early so the fresh baguettes don't all sell. And so I can enjoy all of my last day here – we're heading back to Gotham tonight."

"Well, give my regards to the old place," said Andrea, smiling. "I'm a little jealous. Probably best that I don't ever go back, though. Nothing left there for me really but broken hearts and shattered dreams."

She wiped her eyes. "Sorry, we just…left in kinda a hurry. And I had to…break things off with my fiance."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Harley, sincerely.

"It's fine – I'm sure…he's fine," said Andrea, slowly. "Or he will be, eventually, and so will I. The end of a relationship is just always tough, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know," agreed Harley, thinking of Jack. "Especially when you're not actually sure you want it to end, when you still have unresolved feelings for the guy even though you know you shouldn't…"

She shook her head. "Uh…can I buy you a coffee, Andrea? To say thanks for the bread?"

"That'd be nice, actually," said Andrea, glancing at her watch. "I'm meant to be grocery shopping for me and Dad, but…I'm sure he can wait."

They took a seat at a table outside a quaint little café. "You can do the ordering though," said Harley, smiling at her. "I'll just pay."

Andrea laughed. "Living here, you pick up the language fairly quickly," she said. "Plus I did a little French in college."

"So did I, but it clearly didn't do me any good," said Harley.

"What did you major in?" asked Andrea.

"Psychology," replied Harley. "I'm a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum."

Andrea whistled. "You're a braver woman than me," she said, glancing at the menu. "That place gives me the creeps."

"It's not so bad," said Harley, shrugging. "And the inmates are generally ok. It's interesting work anyway."

The waiter came over and Andrea ordered for them. "And what does your boyfriend do?" she asked, turning back to Harley and smiling.

"Oh, he…he works for a small, independent business," said Harley, repeating the lie Jack had originally told her. "In the communications department. Customer service, that kinda thing. What about your fiance, what did he do? If it's not too painful to talk about him," she added. She had been so desperate to change the subject and not be reminded of Jack that she had forgotten her tact.

Andrea smiled sadly. "No, it's not. He's a good guy, actually, despite being unemployed. My fiance was Bruce Wayne," she explained.

"Bruce Wayne?" repeated Harley. "Wayne Enterprises Bruce Wayne?"

"Yep, wealthy socialite and billionaire. So yeah, not a working kinda guy," said Andrea. "I mean, he's only in charge of Wayne Enterprises in name, he doesn't actually run the company or anything. But I think that's a good thing – some people…don't have a head for business, and…it can get them into trouble."

She wiped tears away again. "Anyway, it probably wouldn't have worked out between Bruce and me even if we hadn't had to move. I'm not really the kinda girl who can do a long-distance thing, and he…he…I'm sure he'll find other priorities. Ways to occupy his time and…move on."

"Yeah, but moving on ain't easy," sighed Harley.

"No, it's not," agreed Andrea. "Especially if you still love each other. Sometimes I think there's nothing I want to do less than move on. Sometimes I wonder if I was crazy to give him up."

The coffees arrived and Andrea sipped hers slowly. "But you and your boyfriend are…happy?" she asked.

"Yeah," agreed Harley. "We have…some issues, but…I do love him," she blurted out. "And maybe that's objectively wrong, but…I don't care. I can't imagine my life without him anymore. I'm…crazy about him."

Andrea smiled. "Well, sounds like you two are made for each other. Take it from a girl who threw it all away and regrets it every day…don't let him get away, whatever happens. A love like that…you seize onto it and you never let it go, not for anything. Don't let…the world get in the way and pull you apart. It's not worth it."

She stood up. "Thanks for the coffee, Harley, but I need to get going. Need stuff in for Dad's breakfast when he wakes up. Have a good trip back home. And say hi to Bruce for me if you see him."

She headed off, leaving Harley alone in the café, sipping her coffee and thinking.


	14. Chapter 14

Late that afternoon, Harley was waiting in their hotel room for Jack when she heard the key turn in the lock. She stood up to see Jack entering the room, munching on an apple. "Hi kiddo, all packed?" he asked.

Harley didn't respond – instead she came over to him and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "Hey, what's all this?" Jack asked, pleasantly surprised as he hugged her back.

"Just…I haven't been very nice to you this whole trip," she murmured. "And I'm sorry. I mean, it was wrong of you to kidnap me in the first place, but…I haven't made the best of a bad situation either."

"Oh, well, that's ok," he said. "Apology accepted, and better late than never, huh?" he chuckled. "Anyway, you _were_ very nice to me that night on the boat…"

"Jack, I'm trying to be serious," she interrupted. "I haven't treated you well at all. I mean, you started out treating me badly by kidnapping me, but…I should have been the better person. You may be a criminal, but you're still a human being, and I had no right to treat you like dirt. I'm sorry."

"Oh baby, you don't ever need to apologize to me," he murmured. "I get it – I ain't a catch by any stretch of the imagination!" he laughed. "And the only way I can keep a girl interested is by kidnapping her, apparently."

"Yeah, well…I _am_ still interested," she murmured. "My feelings for you…you're right. They're real, and…they're not going away, no matter how much my brain tells me they're wrong. I don't wanna fight them anymore."

He stared at her. "Baby, you mean…you mean you want us to be together? For good?"

"I…dunno yet," stammered Harley. "Can't we just…take things slowly and see what happens?"

"Of course we can!" he exclaimed, relieved, as he embraced her tightly again. "Oh, Harley, you don't know how happy you've made me! I mean, I was already pretty happy because of a job well done, but this…this has made me happy beyond my wildest dreams!"

"What do you mean, a job well done?" asked Harley, quietly. "You mean you…did the hit today?"

He nodded. "This morning. Left just as his daughter came back, and you should have seen the look on her face when she saw me!" he chuckled, biting into the apple again.

"Murder ain't funny, Jack," said Harley, quietly.

"Depends on your sense of humor," said Jack, shrugging. "Anyway, he deserved it, baby – shoulda known not to steal Sal's money, and double-cross him. When people are that stupid, they don't deserve to live. And he died a coward, same as that first rich guy, begging me to spare him surrounded by all his stuff in his huge house. Yes, sir, the world won't miss old Carl Beaumont," he chuckled, taking another bite of the apple.

Harley drew away, gazing at him. "Beaumont?" she repeated. "A…Andrea Beaumont's father?"

"Yeah," said Jack, surprised. "Why? You know her?"

"I…met her this morning," stammered Harley. "While you were…murdering her father."

She gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth. "Oh God, Jack, what have you done? That poor girl! She didn't deserve that – she had already lost her fiance, and now you've…you've murdered her father!"

"Well, it's kinda sad, Harl, but he was scum," said Jack, shrugging. " _He_ ruined her life by screwing over Sal and making them both flee Gotham. She's better off without him…"

"He was her father!" shrieked Harley. "And she clearly loved him! It doesn't matter what he had done, or what he was like as a person, that kinda love is unconditional! And it's monstrous to take it away, especially when that's all the love she had left!"

"Harley, it's not like I had a choice," he replied. "Even if I had wanted to spare him, Sal would have made me pay. He would have made you pay…"

"So his death is on my hands, is that what you're saying?!" shrieked Harley. "Jesus Christ, Jack, the last thing I need is that kinda guilt! To know that I smiled and talked to her today while you were killing the only person she had left to love!"

She choked on a sob. "Oh God, this is the worst thing you ever could have done!" she whispered. "She will never get over it, and neither will I! Never!"

"Harley, calm down…" began Jack, taking her gently in his arms.

"Calm down?!" she repeated. "That's all you have to say at a time like this?!"

"I…don't know what else to do," he stammered.

"Tell me you're sorry at least!" shrieked Harley.

"But…I ain't sorry," he said, slowly. "I'm sorry you're upset, but…you shouldn't be, baby. He was scum, and this is just what I do…"

Harley shoved herself away from him. "Then I was right," she whispered, glaring at him coldly. "You _are_ a monster."

She fled from the hotel room, sobbing into her hands. Jack stared after her, shocked and confused, and then slowly headed out onto the balcony to watch the sun set over the beach. The waves were a deep red, trickling over the sand like the blood he had spilled this morning.

Jack honestly couldn't bring himself to feel the slightest bit of remorse over that – killing Carl Beaumont had been like crushing a bug. He supposed he should have felt bad for Andrea, but you didn't feel bad for the bug's family when you crushed one. Anyway, as he had told Harley, Andrea was probably better off without her father. Now she could head home to Gotham if she wanted, to her billionaire boyfriend and live happily ever after. Sal would be satisfied with the money he had taken from Carl's mansion – the girl was free to go anywhere and do anything now. She wouldn't even cross Sal's mind again, nor his.

He took another bite of the apple and suddenly heard something else over the gentle crash of the waves. It was Harley sobbing. He looked down to see her curled up on the beach and crying. Hearing that sound broke Jack's heart, and he suddenly bitterly regretted what he had done, only because it had hurt Harley. At that moment, if Harley's pain could be eased by Jack trading his own life for scum like Carl Beaumont's, he would have done it for her.

But it couldn't be done. And now Jack was afraid their budding reconciliation would never come to pass. He had once again ruined their relationship just by being what he was.

In a sudden fury at himself, he gave a roar and threw the remainder of the apple far out to sea. Then he turned away from the balcony, heading inside to go pack and with Harley's sobs echoing in his ears.


	15. Chapter 15

Harley returned to the room shortly afterward. "Harley, I'm…" began Jack as she entered.

"What time are we heading home?" she interrupted. Her face was red from crying, but cold and emotionless now, and she didn't seem to be in the mood to hear an apology.

"Uh…the plane's leaving around 2 AM," said Jack. "So maybe if you wanna nap for a couple hours…"

"Yeah," interrupted Harley. "That'd be a good idea."

"First class seats this time, baby, so no freezing to death…" began Jack with a smile, but she pushed past him into the bedroom and lay down without speaking. Jack followed her silently and set the alarm for midnight. He wanted to say something to her, but she just lay with her back to him, clearly not wanting to talk. So he too remained silent and tried to sleep. She couldn't ignore him the whole flight, after all, he reminded himself – she would have to speak to him again sometime. And then he would apologize, he would tell her he would never do anything to hurt her again, and promise her anything to make up for what he had done. He would prove to her he could be a man worthy of her love, no matter how long that took.

He dropped off to sleep and woke to the loud beeping of the alarm. He sat up and then turned to see Harley…but the bed was empty.

"Harley?" he said, looking around the room for her. "Harley?" he called, getting up and searching the whole suite of rooms. She wasn't there.

Maybe she had left for the airport early, he thought, as he hurriedly dressed and grabbed his bag. Maybe she just hadn't wanted to share a taxi with him, but she had to be waiting for him at the airport because they had tickets for that flight…

A horrible thought struck him, and he suddenly raced back into the bedroom to grab his wallet on the dresser. The plane tickets were gone – Harley must have taken them. But all his money was still there – more than enough for a separate ticket of his own later. She clearly hadn't wanted to strand him here – she just hadn't wanted to share a flight with him.

And as much as the thought of her stealing from him hurt, he couldn't blame her for that. She had a right to some time alone, and he would give her that time, he vowed. He would head to the airport later and get the afternoon flight to Gotham. He would give her the hours alone on the flight to think, and then he would head to her apartment when he got back to talk to her.

It would have been nice if she had just left a note, he thought, just a few words saying she needed some time alone, and whether he had any hope left at all. Then at least he wouldn't have to go through this hell of not knowing. That was really the least she could have done if she still had feelings for him like she claimed, instead of sneaking off like a thief in the night.

He spent the hours alone on his flight in an agony of uncertainty, wondering what he would do if Harley told him she couldn't forgive him for what he had done. He still couldn't bear to give her up, but there honestly wasn't much else he could do if she had decided they were through. She was a stubborn woman – that had been made apparent on the trip if nothing else. And as much as he loved her, he couldn't inflict himself upon her if she honestly didn't want him back. Or if she couldn't overcome her reservations and admit to herself that she did.

The flight landed late that afternoon, and Jack dropped off his luggage at his place and then immediately headed over to Harley's. He knocked on her door, but there was no response. He tried the handle and found the door open, and slowly entered the apartment.

"Harley?" he called. He heard somebody crying from the bedroom and hurried there to see Harley sitting on the bed, sniffling into her hands. "Hey, baby," he said gently, coming over to her and kneeling down next to her. "C'mon, don't cry."

"I'm so sorry, Jack," she whispered, gazing at him with tear-stained blue eyes.

"No, no, no, I'm the one who's sorry, honey," he whispered. "I told you, don't you ever apologize to me for anything…"

"Jack, you gotta believe me, I didn't wanna do it," she whispered. "I just wanted to do the right thing, but this…this ain't right!"

"What are you talking about?" Jack asked. And then he heard the noise of a gun cocking behind his back.

"Jack Napier, you're under arrest for the murder of Carl Beaumont," said a voice. Jack gazed at Harley, seeing the heartbreak in her own eyes as the realization sank into his. He straightened up slowly and turned to see Police Commissioner James Gordon standing behind him, pointing a gun at his face.

"Don't try anything funny," said Gordon. "Just come quietly, and you won't be harmed."

"Please, Commissioner, don't shoot him," begged Harley. "Jack, you gotta believe me, I didn't want to see you hurt! I went to the police because it was the right thing to do, but then they wanted me to be the bait, and it seemed wrong but…"

"But you agreed anyway," finished Jack, quietly. "You agreed to betray me like this."

He nodded slowly, looking at her coldly. "Well, I guess we're even now," he murmured.

"Jack, please…" sobbed Harley. "I'm sorry, I didn't want this to happen…"

"What did you think was gonna happen, Harley?" he asked with a smile. "You think the cops would sit me down for a nice chat? You think they would just magically cure me of crime, like one of your patients, and then we could go live happily ever after together?"

"I just wanted to do the right thing," she whispered.

"Well, now you have," he agreed, nodding. "Don't it feel good, baby?"

Harley sobbed again. "You coming quietly or not, scum?" demanded Gordon.

Jack turned to smile at him. "Not," he replied. And then he suddenly raced toward the bedroom window, diving through the glass. Gordon fired after him, racing to the window and glancing down. Jack had landed on one of the lower balconies and was heading quickly down the fire escape. Gordon aimed at him again…

"No!" screamed Harley, knocking the gun out of Gordon's hands.

"He's getting away, Dr. Quinzel!" shouted Gordon.

"Good!" she cried, shoving him out of the way and gazing out of the window, where she saw Jack disappearing like a shadow into the streets of Gotham. "Run, Jack," she whispered. "Don't let them find you."

"I could have you arrested for interfering in police business, Dr. Quinzel!" snapped Gordon, grabbing his gun and shoving her out of the way to look for Jack. But he was gone.

"Go ahead," retorted Harley. "I've had enough of your emotional blackmail making me do things I don't wanna do, Commissioner! You do your worst to me, but I won't help you hurt Jack again!"

"He's a murderer, Dr. Quinzel!" shouted Gordon. "He deserves worse than being hurt!"

"I love him," whispered Harley. "I don't care what he is – he's the man I love."

Gordon glared at her. "Then you're as crazy as he is," he muttered, heading for the door. "You two deserve each other."

He left Harley alone in the apartment, staring after where Jack had disappeared. She had seen the way his heart had broken at her ultimate betrayal of him, and she was sure he never wanted to see her again. There was no forgiveness for what she had done. But at least she had been able to save him in the end. That was all that mattered.

She turned away from the window, her own heart breaking at the knowledge that she would never see Jack Napier again.

…

"Well done, Jack," said Sal Valestra, his eyes gloating over the money Jack had brought back from France for him. "And old Carl's gone to meet his maker, has he?"

"Yes, sir," murmured Jack.

Sal studied him. "You seem in a fairly gloomy mood for a guy who's just got back from France and killed a guy. Kinda unusual for you."

"Yeah, just…personal stuff," muttered Jack, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "I'll be fine."

"Of course you will," said Sal, nodding. "And I hope you ain't gonna let your mood interfere with your work."

"No, sir," agreed Jack. "You got another job for me, and I'll be happy to do it."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Sal. "Because I do have another job for you, a very delicate operation. I need you to be completely focused and have all your wits about you, because if you screw it up, your life is over. Do you understand?"

Jack managed a smile. "Nothing to lose at this point, Sal. What's the job?"

"Robbery," said Sal. "I need you, Buzz, and Chuckie to break into a place and steal some money. A small fortune, in fact, which will more than make up for all the time I've had to waste waiting for Carl to finally bring in his due," he said, gesturing at the money in front of him.

Jack nodded. "Sounds simple enough. What's the place?"

"Chemical factory just outside of town," said Sal. "Should be a simple enough operation if everything goes smoothly and nobody triggers any alarms by being careless or distracted."

"Don't you worry about me, boss," said Jack. "Nothing to distract me anymore."

"Good," said Sal, blowing out a cloud of smoke and tossing an address at Jack. "Now get the boys and head to Ace Chemicals."


	16. Chapter 16

**9 Months Later**

Dr. Harleen Quinzel let her fake smile drop as her last patient was led out of her office. She let out a heavy sigh as the door shut, taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes.

There was a knock on her door. "Harley, these were dropped off at reception for you," said Dr. Joan Leland, her colleague, entering the office with a bouquet of flowers. "From a Ricky Sorkin."

"Oh…thanks, Joan," said Harley, standing up and taking them from her. "That's sweet of him."

"Yeah, he's a pretty persistent guy," said Dr. Leland with an encouraging smile. "You think you might give this one a chance?"

Harley didn't smile. "No, I…I'm really still not ready to go out with anyone," she murmured, putting the flowers down on her desk.

"Harley, don't you think you've mourned your last relationship long enough?" asked Dr. Leland. "I know it's none of my business, but it's really changed you, y'know. And I think the best way to help you get back to the happy, fun girl we all used to remember around here is to get out there and meet someone else. If you just try to move on, I'm sure you'll be able to."

Harley was silent. She hadn't told Dr. Leland, or anyone, the details of her last relationship, nor the circumstances under which it had ended. Her colleagues thought it had just been a bad breakup, and that all Harley needed to do was see other people and she would soon get over it. They could never understand the way Harley felt, not only about losing the love of her life, but in the way she had lost him.

She had betrayed him, utterly and completely. And it was only after he was gone that she truly realized how much she had loved him, how every part of every thought led straight to him, how it seemed like her very smile had been taken away with Jack gone. She didn't laugh anymore – she couldn't, weighed down by her guilt at her betrayal of him. Her principles, her sense of right and wrong, everything that had seemed so important at the time, were of little comfort to her now. Her heart had been completely shattered, and her head could do nothing to repair it. Every day she regretted letting sense and reason rule her, rather than listening to her heart and feelings, as Jack had told her to. And how dull and bleak the world was now, when her life was ruled entirely by her head. She went to work, and she went home. Her routine never varied because she had no desire to change it. She had no desire to do anything.

"I'll think about it," she said.

"You do that," said Dr. Leland, nodding. "Trust me, Harley, you've just let yourself brood too long on your last relationship that you've forgotten how to be happy. You'll remember if you just go out and have a good time with someone else. And it's the first, big step to getting over it. I promise."

Dr. Leland clapped her gently on the shoulder and then left her, shutting the door to her office. The moment she was gone, Harley dumped the flowers into the trash can, and then buried her face in her hands, bursting into tears. This was the other part of her routine – sobbing uncontrollably. That, and…remembering.

She tried to get ahold of herself as she shut her eyes and leaned back in her chair. She tried to imagine herself away from the office, from the ugly dirt and smog of Gotham City and back on the golden, sun-dappled beaches of the French Riviera. She imagined what she hadn't done then, diving into the cool, blue water, letting it wash over her and calm her nerves. She emerged from the sea dripping wet, water clinging to her skin and sliding down her body as a man approached her along the beach, the sun shining around him like a halo.

"Jack," she whispered, beaming at him. He didn't speak – he just smiled his gorgeous smile at her and kissed her. She felt his strong arms steal around her body as she pressed herself against him, drinking in his warmth, and his kiss, and his love. He pressed her down into the surf, the cool water washing over both of them as he removed her bikini…

A knock on her door broke into her fantasy. "Uh…come in!" called Harley, hoping she wasn't blushing too badly.

A guard entered. "Sorry for disturbing you, Dr. Quinzel, but we've got a new patient arriving. Dr. Leland's just left and you're the next senior staff still here…"

"Oh…yeah, I'll be right there," said Harley, standing up and reaching for her lab coat.

"He just needs to be processed and put in his cell – I think Dr. Leland's starting therapy on him tomorrow," said the guard as they walked. "Apparently he's a real psycho. Looks like a clown and calls himself the Joker."

"Really?" asked Harley, the name sounding vaguely familiar. "What else can you tell me about him?"

"Not much," said the guard, shrugging. "He's suffered some accident that's burned his fingerprints off, and claims not to know who he really is. From what I gather there was this robbery at a place called Ace Chemicals, Batman showed up, and knocked this guy into some acid that gave him the clown look, erased his identity, and damaged his memory."

Harley sighed. The so-called Batman had appeared on the scene in Gotham shortly after her return from France. Nobody knew who he really was, but he was a lot more of a hindrance than a help, in Harley's mind. He gave the lunatics in Arkham a figure to hate and plot against, and only encouraged their madness by beating them up and returning them here in an endless cycle of violence. And now he'd apparently made a new lunatic from scratch.

"Another valiant act of heroism from the Batman," she muttered under her breath as the guard went to collect the patient from the police escort outside. She really hoped the police would do their job for once and arrest the Batman, but judging from her own experience with the police of Gotham City, they were worse than useless.

She was looking down at the notes for the patient as he was dragged in, and looked up from her clipboard at last to see him standing in front of her…

And her breath caught in her throat as she dropped the clipboard with a clatter. "Jack!" she gasped.

There could be no mistaking the figure of Jack Napier – she would have recognized him anywhere. Although he looked so different now – his skin was bleached white, his hair had turned green, and his lips were bright red and grinning, like a clown. He looked at her with no trace of recognition in his eyes, just that same, rigid smile underneath his wild and crazy green eyes.

"Jack!" Harley sobbed, tears coming to her eyes. "Oh God, Jack, it _is_ you! You're real!" she gasped, taking his hands. "You're not a figment of my imagination…"

"Keep your hands to yourself, Doc!" he chuckled in Jack's voice, drawing away from her suddenly. "You can get sued for that kinda behavior!"

"Jack, don't you recognize me?" she gasped, shocked.

He cocked his head to one side. "Don't know who this Jack is, Doc – my name's the Joker," he said.

She stared at him. "You don't know…who I am, do you?" she whispered.

"I'm guessing by the lab coat you're my doctor!" he chuckled. "But I could be wrong about that. Ain't the first time I've been wrong about something!" he laughed.

"God, Jack, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I never thought I'd get to say that to you – I never thought I'd see you again!" she gasped, hugging him tightly.

He didn't respond and Harley realized with a sinking heart that he truly didn't remember her. Well, she would help him, she vowed, drawing away. She would help him remember her and get better, now that they had this second chance. Now that she had a chance to make up for her mistake...

"Uh…guard…please take…the Joker to my office," she said, firmly. "I have a…couple questions for him while I fill out the paperwork."

The guard shrugged, dragging Joker down the corridor with Harley following them, her heart hammering.

The guard left them alone in her office, and Harley shut the door. "You…really don't remember me?" she asked, quietly.

"I remember you," he said, in a voice that was suddenly harsh and cold as he looked at her with icy eyes. "I remember everything about you, Dr. Harleen Quinzel. I know exactly who you are. The woman who always wanted to do the right thing, no matter what."

"Jack…" she began.

"Jack is dead," he interrupted. "I don't wanna remember that guy anymore – I don't wanna _be_ that guy anymore. That guy who was taken for a fool by the woman he loved madly. At least I look the part now," he added, with a cruel smile.

Harley was silent, gazing at him. "I know you can never forgive me for what I did to you," she whispered. "But if you knew how much pain I was in since I lost you, how I bitterly regretted my decision every day, just like you said I would…"

"It's too late, kid," he interrupted. "Can't you understand that? The guy you betrayed is dead, so there's no need to apologize to him. And as for me, I'm the Joker now. And the Joker doesn't love anyone. You won't be able to change that, no matter what you say or do. Our past is dead, and there is no future for us."

He sat down on the sofa, and Harley gazed at him with tears in her eyes. "You told me I'd never have to apologize to you, whatever happened," she whispered.

"That was before you stabbed me in the back," he muttered.

"If you're still upset about that, that tells me you do still have a heart somewhere," she whispered. "And feelings that were hurt by what I did, that still are hurt…"

"No, I don't," interrupted Joker, glaring up at her coldly. "You don't matter to me anymore, Harley. Nothing matters to the Joker, except his jokes. Believe me, now I could kill you along with anybody else if I wanted to."

"Then do it," she murmured. "My life is a living hell now. And I can't bear to live any longer with the guilt of what I did to you, or the agony of losing you forever. So please, kill me."

Joker stood up, approaching her slowly. She gazed back into his bright green eyes, the eyes of the man she loved, and begged with her own to see tenderness for her in them again. But there was nothing but cold, cruel hatred.

He curled his hand around her throat, squeezing slightly so that she had difficulty breathing, feeling her body panicking as his grip grew tighter.

And then he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "You don't get off that easy, Doc."

He released her throat and she fell forward, gasping for breath. "Just show me to my cell," he muttered, turning away from her. "The sooner I'm settled, the sooner I can find a way to break outta this dump. Hate to stay anyplace long surrounded by the scum of humanity. And I ain't talking about the lunatics."

Harley nodded, tears in her eyes, as she buzzed for the guards. "Please…show the Joker to his cell," she murmured.

He was dragged off without even sparing her a second glance. Harley sat down at her desk and shut her eyes, trying to think rationally. She had to keep her history with Jack a secret, and convince Dr. Leland to let her treat him. She was determined to help him, in whatever way she could. And this time, she wasn't going to let ethics get in their way.


	17. Chapter 17

The next morning, Harley headed straight to Dr. Leland's office and knocked on the door. "Come in!" she called.

"Hi, Joan, just wanted a word if you're not busy?" asked Harley, hoping her smile and tone looked casual.

"Actually, I just have a little incident with the inmates to clear up," sighed Dr. Leland. "Apparently the new one's been causing some trouble. But you're welcome to stay while I handle it."

"Oh…sure," said Harley, taking a seat. Her heart beat wildly at the thought of seeing the Joker again and she tried to keep her breathing steady – if Dr. Leland suspected something had ever gone on between them, she would never allow Harley to treat him.

The guards brought in the Joker, closely followed by Poison Ivy and Scarecrow, all three of whom looked like they'd been in some sort of brawl. Joker's eyes fell on Harley, and she smiled hopefully at him, but he studiously ignored her.

"Mr. Joker, I'm Dr. Joan Leland," said Dr. Leland, standing up and extending her hand. "It's a shame we have to meet under such unfortunate circumstances, but it's very important that you understand that Arkham Asylum is a violence-free zone. Any engagement in violence of any kind will not be tolerated, and will be met with very forceful measures."

Joker chuckled. "I'm real scared, Doc. Almost as scared as I am of these losers," he said, nodding at Ivy and Crane. The former started forward to attack him again, but was held back.

"Could someone please tell me what the fight was about?" asked Dr. Leland.

"Mr. Happy just waltzes in here like he owns the place!" snapped Ivy. "Like he's some kinda king of the castle, shoving people around and talking crap…"

"He made the most slanderous accusation against the most virtuous and sacred of all women," agreed Crane, nodding.

"Ain't slander if it's the truth," retorted Joker.

"What accusation?" asked Dr. Leland, as Crane raised his fist again.

"Funny boy here said he's slept with Dr. Quinzel," said Ivy, nodding at Harley. "Gave some really intimate, personal details…"

"All of which are lies, naturally," chimed in Crane.

"But it's still a sick thing to accuse the Doc of," said Ivy. "She definitely has better taste than to do some clown-faced loser. Mind you, I remember when her last boyfriend came in here after he'd murdered my babies…"

"Never trusted that ruffian – he was very obviously some sort of common thug of the lowest order," said Crane, nodding. "Dr. Quinzel is better off rid of him, and will have learned her lesson, not sunk even lower in her taste in men."

Harley stared at them, realizing that neither of them recognized Jack. And why should they, she thought – she only did because she had his image constantly in the front of her mind, the sole occupier of her every waking and unwaking thought. She never could have not recognized him, unlike Ivy and Crane, who had only seen him once briefly nearly a year ago when he hadn't looked like a clown. But that was good, she thought – the less anyone knew about her and Joker, the better.

Dr. Leland looked at Harley. "I'm not even going to insult Dr. Quinzel by asking her to confirm or deny these accusations, because naturally they're untrue," she said.

"Of course they are," said Harley, firmly. "But what can you expect from somebody called the Joker? He probably thinks they're really funny. Well, I don't find unprofessionalism funny, Mr. Joker, not at all."

She stood up. "Joan, I know he's your patient and all, but would you mind me having a couple sessions with him? His madness seems to have fixated on me for some reason, and maybe if I can help him get to the bottom of it, we can have some sort of breakthrough."

"No, I don't mind at all," said Dr. Leland. "Frees up my schedule a bit, actually. Guards, escort Crane and Isley back to their cells, and take the Joker to Dr. Quinzel's office. Let me know how the session goes," she said as they left.

The moment Harley and Joker were alone in her office, Harley let her stern expression drop. "So this is our past being dead, is it?" she asked, lightly. "You brag about it to all your little friends?"

"I wasn't bragging," retorted Joker. "And they're not my friends. They're suckers who will bite at any word against you. You're just lucky I didn't tell them what you really are."

"And what am I?" she asked.

"A back-stabbing little traitor," he retorted, sitting down on the sofa again and glaring at her. "So…now you've got me alone in your little session. Hoping to seduce me?" he asked, grinning.

"No," she retorted. "I don't think that would work on you. And I wouldn't risk my professional ethics sleeping with a guy who didn't love me."

"Yeah, I know how concerned you are about your ethics," he sneered.

"Why don't you just talk to me?" she asked. "Tell me what happened to you, after…"

"After you sold me out to the cops?" he finished with a cold smile. "I don't really wanna remember it, actually. Ever since I became the Joker, I've been making a concentrated effort to forget most of my past, and everyone in it. Certain people in particular."

"Except you gave the inmates details of our time together," said Harley. "So you obviously haven't forgotten those."

"I told you, it was a joke," he snapped. "Just like our relationship was, actually. One great, big, horrible joke."

"I don't laugh about it," murmured Harley. "Do you?"

"No," he retorted. "It's not a funny joke."

Harley was silent. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Mr. J," she whispered.

He flinched. "Don't…call me that," he murmured.

"But that's who you are," she murmured. "That's who you'll always be to me. My Mr. J. I forgot how much I loved him for so long…"

"No," he said, standing up. "No, don't start on all that, unless you want me to call the guards and tell 'em you made a move on me."

"Nobody would believe you," she retorted. "I have an excellent service record here, and have never been anything but professional with the inmates, and you're a lunatic who's not serious about anything. Who do you honestly think people are going to trust?"

"Then I'll hurt you myself," he growled. "I don't want to hear any more about the way things used to be, or how sorry you are about what happened. What's done is done. Avoid that topic, or shut up."

"I'm your shrink – my job is to help you get better," retorted Harley. "I can't just ignore the past that made you what you are. My job is to confront that past, and fix it if I can…"

"You can't," he interrupted. "This is who I am now, and this is who I'm happy to be. The Joker."

He sat down again. "You told me in France that you couldn't cure me because I didn't want to be cured," he murmured. "I still don't. So just mind your own business, toots, and stop asking me a lotta personal questions."

Harley shrugged. "Suit yourself. We'll just sit here in silence, then."

She leaned back in her chair, doodling on her notepad. "Crane still has a crush on you," said Joker at last.

"I know," she said, nodding. "But I told you, I would never enter into a relationship with a patient. Not one I wasn't crazy in love with, anyway. Why? You jealous?" she asked, looking up at him.

"No," he said, shrugging. "Why would I be jealous of a nerd like him? I ain't got any interest in you, and even if I did, he's got no chance."

Harley noticed that his eyes had drifted to the flowers in her trash can. "Those aren't from Crane," she said, casually. "They're from a guy called Ricky Sorkin. He's a cop."

"Oh," said Joker. "Well, I know how much you love law and order, so that should work out great for you."

"We chat when he brings in the inmates sometimes," continued Harley. "He wants a date, but I'm not ready to move on. Still not over my ex, y'know."

"You should tell the cop your ex was a hitman-turned-lunatic," chuckled Joker. "That would make for a lively dinner conversation. And I would love to see the look on his face."

Harley giggled. "Me too, actually. Maybe I should go out with him just for that. As a joke, y'know."

"Jokes are the only reason you should do anything, that's my motto," agreed Joker.

"Well, if that were true, you wouldn't still be mad at me," said Harley. "No joke in holding a grudge, is there, Mr. J?"

"Some things just ain't funny enough to joke about," he retorted.

"Well, it is when you think about," said Harley, nodding slowly. "Tell it like a joke. Here's the set-up. These two people meet by accident, and they're perfect for each other, soulmates, only they don't know it. And things are going great in their relationship until the guy reveals his true self to the girl, and she's so blinded by all kindsa ideals about right and wrong that she rejects him. So the guy, rather than just giving up, actually, get this, kidnaps the girl!"

She giggled. "Kidnaps her, and drags her to France, of all places! Now the girl can't see the funny side in that, so she wastes her time in France still moping around, until she meets this other gal who tells her not to make the same mistake she did and let the world get in the way of her true love. So the girl vows not to make that same mistake, and rushes home to the guy, who's just spent the morning…murdering that other gal's father!"

Harley actually burst out laughing, for the first time in ages. She laughed so hard that tears ran down her cheeks, and she wiped them away. "The other gal…who gave the girl that great advice to stay with her boyfriend…got her love taken away by that very same boyfriend! That's ironic, Mr. J, it really is – you just gotta laugh!"

The Joker didn't laugh, but he watched her laughing with a curious expression on his face.

Harley wiped her eyes again, catching her breath. "So then…so then the girl still can't see the funny side, she's just horrified by all of this, and runs off back home, but the guy still won't give her up so he chases after her. And he comes home to find that she's set up a trap for him with the cops, because she wanted to do the right thing. She wanted to do the right thing…and she lost the love of her life forever. That's ironic too, y'know, Mr. J. That trying to do the right thing went so terribly, terribly wrong."

She was crying again, but this time they were genuine tears of sorrow. The Joker continued to just look at her, at the tears trickling down her face, and slowly reached out a hand and tilted her chin up to see the pain in her eyes. And then he laughed hysterically.

"Y'know, that actually is…pretty funny!" he chuckled. "Thanks for the laughs, Doc! But I think our time may be up."

Harley glanced at the clock, and a second later, the guards knocked on the door. "You all right, Dr. Quinzel?" asked one of them, noticing her tears.

"Yeah, just…the Joker's past is…pretty emotional," she said, wiping them away. "Abusive father, absent mother, that kinda thing."

The guards nodded, and then dragged Joker away. Harley heard him laughing to himself as he was dragged off, a wild, hysterical sound that changed constantly in pitch and volume. And she smiled.


	18. Chapter 18

"Mr. J, I wanna try a little experimental therapy today, if that's all right with you," said Harley at their next session.

He shrugged, sitting down huffily on the sofa again. "Not like I got a choice, do I?"

"No, you don't," she agreed. "But I think you'll be fairly enthusiastic about this type of therapy."

"Believe me, toots, I don't get enthusiastic about ink blots," he retorted. "No matter what kinda shapes I see in 'em."

"No ink blots," she said, heading over to a sheet in the corner of the room. She removed it to reveal a punching bag with Batman's face painted on it.

"Here you go," she said, gesturing to it. "Thought a good way to begin therapy would be to have you work out your aggression. According to your notes, you attack Batman a lot, so maybe hurting an image of him will be helpful in releasing your anger at him."

Joker just looked at her. "Seriously?" he asked. "There's no fun in beating up a sack of stuffing, toots."

"And why is that?" she asked. "It looks like Batman, and you seem to hate Batman."

"I don't beat up Batman because I hate him," retorted Joker. "You don't understand me at all."

"Why do you do it, then?" she asked.

"Because it's fun," he retorted. "That's why I do everything."

"What's fun about beating up the real Batman that you can't get from beating up a fake Batman?" she asked.

"You really wanna know?" he asked. She nodded. He came over to the punching bag and suddenly threw his fist into it, watching it bounce back. "See? No thrill at all," he said. "It ain't about the violence itself, toots – it's about inflicting that violence on other people. Slapstick's only funny if somebody gets hurt, not inanimate objects. The fun's seeing the pain in their eyes, whether that's innocent people, or especially the Bat. I love to make him hurt – it's probably the only time he ever feels anything!" he chuckled.

"And the same could be said for you, isn't that right, Mr. J?" asked Harley, quietly. "The only feeling you have left is pain."

He shrugged. "I don't have any feelings left anymore, toots. Anyway, where pain is concerned, I much prefer to give than to receive – I'm a generous kinda guy like that," he added, grinning.

"So this punching bag won't help you work out any of your aggression?" she asked. "You would actually have to hurt a real person to feel anything?"

"Yep. Sorry to spoil your therapy, toots," he said, sarcastically.

"You haven't," she said, quietly. "That was just to test you," she said, covering over the punching bag. She stood in front of him and took a deep breath. "Hurt me," she whispered.

He stared at her. "What?" he said.

"Hurt me," she repeated, louder. "You need to hurt someone to feel anything, and I deserve to be hurt. I betrayed you. You need to punish me for that. Hurt me."

He shook his head slowly. "If I do…I won't be able to stop. I'll do some real damage, probably send you to the emergency room, assuming I don't just kill you."

"I'm not afraid of you," she whispered.

"You should be," he retorted.

She gazed back into his eyes, cold and merciless, and gulped. But her love for him overcame her fear, and she repeated, "Hurt me, Mr. J. Give me the pain I deserve."

He didn't move. "I do deserve it," she continued. "I sold you out to the cops. I treated you like crap all the time we were in France together. I teased you on the boat, used you for my own selfish pleasure and gave you hope, and then immediately dashed it the next day. I said I didn't mean to let it happen, but that was a lie. I used you on purpose, I manipulated you, because you were so hopelessly in love with me that you'd let me do anything. I knew you'd be so pathetic that you'd actually let me continue to treat you like dirt. Because that's what criminal scum like you is, Jack. The only way you could ever have been with a classy girl like me was to lie, and deceive me, because the moment I found out what you really were, I crushed you like the dirt beneath my feet. You're nothing to me, Jack Napier, and you never were…"

He struck her a harsh blow across the face. "I am not Jack Napier!" he roared. "I'm the Joker! And I am not nothing! That's you, you little idiot! You, with your smug sense of superiority, thinking you're so much better than me, so undeserving of my love just because I ain't got a good job and some phony sense of morality! You're the one whose life is meaningless, you're the one who's a worthless piece of scum! You had the opportunity to be loved by a man who adored you with all his heart, who would have given you everything, and you threw it away like it was trash! You used him, and stabbed him in the back, and betrayed him! You are nothing!"

He hit her again, and Harley fell back against the desk, gasping in pain. Joker's next blow knocked the glasses from her face, and she felt their edge cut into her, making her warm blood trickle down her cheek.

"I will kill you," he gasped, seizing her around the throat. "Don't think I won't. Don't think I still care about you, you lying little traitor! You are nothing to me anymore! Nothing!"

He squeezed tightly, and Harley whimpered in pain. She gazed up at him through blurred vision, her face throbbing in agony as the blood ran from her cheek and down her body. He was panting in fury, his green eyes wild and uncontrollable and burning hatred for her…

And then he was kissing her, with the same wild and uncontrollable passion, his mouth rough and harsh, more to cause her pain than convey tenderness. Harley loved it, and responded instantly, scratching her nails down his cheek so that it bled too. He chuckled, twisting his hands through her hair and then ripping down her clothes, so that her blouse tore open. Harley was already raking her nails down his chest as she reached into his pants...

"This…ain't such a good idea," he whispered, biting down on her earlobe.

"I know," she whispered. "Tell me to stop."

He didn't – he just slammed her down hard on the desk, laughing. Harley forgot the fantasy of the beach in France, and the gentle tenderness of her lover's caress – this was the only kind of love she wanted anymore.


	19. Chapter 19

"Did that mean anything?" asked Harley at last. They hadn't spoken since their bodies had separated, and now Harley was perched on the desk, looking at Joker who sat on the sofa, breathing heavily and avoiding her gaze.

He shrugged. "Did that night on the boat mean anything?" he asked, quietly.

"Yes," murmured Harley. "It meant that I still loved you, but I didn't want to admit my feelings to you or to myself. But I couldn't help revealing them."

Joker shrugged again. "Maybe that's what this meant too," he murmured.

Harley beamed. "I will get you outta here, Mr. J, I promise," she said, coming over to join him on the sofa. "You don't deserve to be locked up in here any longer. Neither of us do."

He studied her. "You get it now, don't you?" he murmured. "What I kept trying to tell you in France, about what a joke it all is, right and wrong, everything you believed in…"

"Yeah," she agreed. "I get it. I got it it too late, the first time. But I'm glad fate or whatever decided to give us a second chance. Hasn't it?" she asked, hopefully.

"You saying you want us to be together…like this?" he asked, gesturing to himself. "I ain't Jack Napier anymore, Harley – I'm a completely different person…"

"So am I," she agreed. "I ain't the Harley you knew. We're both different people now, and we have to build a new relationship as different people. But I think…the one thing that ain't changed about us is our love. It hasn't for me, anyway. I will do anything for you, Mr. J, to make up for the way I treated you. I'm gonna prove my love to you and to the world."

He nodded slowly. "Well, I can't wait to see what you got in mind, toots," he said, smiling at her.

She smiled back. "I love you, puddin'," she whispered.

He made a face. "Urgh, I wish that had been one of the things that _had_ changed."

Harley giggled, kissing him. "I ain't laughed since the day I lost you," she whispered.

"Well, you're gonna be laughing a lot more now, kid," he said, grinning. "I promise."

They kissed again, and then Harley glanced at the clock. "Hurry, get dressed," she said, tossing his clothes at him. "The guards will be here to collect you soon."

"Afraid there ain't much left of your clothes, kiddo!" he chuckled. "How are you gonna hide that?"

"I always bring a change," she said, reaching into one of her desk drawers and pulling out a near identical outfit. "Never know when you're gonna get blood on your clothes restraining a patient or something, so the asylum advises us to have spares. Not for changing into after you've just enjoyed a little experimental therapy, of course," she added, grinning.

"I could get used to that kinda therapy!" he chuckled, dressing.

"Honestly, Mr. J, it's really clumsy of you to have self-harmed like that before I could stop you," she sighed, touching his cheek where she had scratched him. "Scratches all over your body too. You need to be watched more closely in the future. Maybe I'll suggest handcuffing you at our next session."

"Oooh, I'd enjoy that, toots!" he chuckled. "You're gonna have a heck of a time explaining your cuts, though."

"Not at all – you attacked me when I tried to stop you self-harming," said Harley lightly. "You bad boy. That's why some restraint might be called for next time, doncha think, Mr. J?"

"Only if we can both be subjected to some," he chuckled.

She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "I missed you so much," she whispered. "And I'm so sorry for what I did to you, Jack."

He smiled. "Dunno who this Jack is, Doc, or what you did to him. I've forgotten all about that. I suggest you do the same."

He drew his arms about her in return, his grip firm and slightly threatening. Jack had been a dangerous man, but he never would have hurt her. But Harley had the feeling the same might not hold true for the Joker. And she loved that thought, the thought that he might give her pain at any second, pain that she loved and craved and deserved…

A knock came on the door, and they pulled apart just as it opened. "Dr. Quinzel, what happened?" asked the guard, noticing her face.

"The patient attacked me when I tried to interfere with his self-harm," said Harley, gesturing at Joker. "I want him securely restrained next time."

"Of course, Dr. Quinzel," said the guard. "You could have called for us – we were just outside."

Harley had to suppress a grin – Joker had found very creative ways to silence her, as neither of them had wanted the guards barging in and spoiling the fun. "Thank you, but it was nothing I couldn't handle," she said.

"You might wanna get your cuts looked at in the infirmary…" began the guard.

"No, thank you," she replied. The last thing she needed was for the doctors to find marks on her own body and start asking questions. "But I might take the rest of the day off, if it's ok with Dr. Leland."

The guard nodded and led Joker away. This time he did look back at her and grinned. Harley grinned back, and then headed straight for Dr. Leland's office.

"Harley! My God, what happened?" asked Dr. Leland, shocked at the marks on Harley's face as she entered.

"Uh…the Joker attacked me," murmured Harley. "He was self-harming, and I interfered, and he…punched me a couple times."

"God, are you ok?" asked Dr. Leland, hurrying over. "Let me see! Jesus, that looks bad - let's get you to the infirmary…"

"It's fine, Joan – just a few cuts and bruises," said Harley. "But I'd like to go home if that's all right. Feeling a bit shaken and I don't think I'll be able to focus on work…"

"Of course, Harley. You go home and get some rest," said Dr. Leland. "And I'll try to think up a suitable punishment for the Joker – he has to learn he can't just be violent towards anyone and everyone. That's no way for a sane person to behave."

"No, it…sure isn't," agreed Harley, suppressing another grin. "I'll try to think up a suitable punishment for him too, Joan."

Indeed she would, she thought to herself, as she left the office and headed for her car. But first, she needed to do a little shopping.


	20. Chapter 20

Harley had been working in Arkham for well over a year now, and as such she was very familiar with the security procedures of the place – how many guards would be patrolling where, what codes shut off what alarms, and their access points, all the things people needed to know when they were planning to break someone out. Learning that had been the easy part.

The difficult part had been deciding on her new look – Harley trawled through the costume shops for something suitable. It would have to be a clown design, to match Mr. J's look, she thought. She needed something stylish and sexy, without coming across as too slutty – she wanted the world to know she belonged to Mr. J, and Mr. J alone. Her body was his to hurt or pleasure as he pleased, along with everything else she possessed. She adored the thought of being his, of belonging, utterly and completely, to this man she was about to give up everything in the world for. If he was the Joker now, she wanted to be his little Harley Quinn, who did everything in the world for him, whose job was to serve him and please him. That was the only way she could ever make up for all she had done to him, both to him and to herself. And it was something she wanted to do with all her heart.

That night, Harley crept under the barrier that was manned by a single, distracted guard and make her way into the asylum. The night shifts were more relaxed, with only a small group of guards patrolling the corridors.

Harley opened her bag of tricks and instantly took out one by slamming a rubber chicken with a brick inside across his skull, knocking him senseless. The noise alerted the others, who headed down the hall to check on it, giving Harley enough time to load a stink bomb laced with knockout gas into her gun and then shoot it into the corridor. As the guards choked and lost consciousness, Harley hurried down the hall, reaching the Joker's cell and strapping a homemade bomb to the glass. She grinned at the stunned expression on his face, and then covered her ears.

The bomb exploded, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. Harley strode into the cell, holding up her gun and striking a pose in her new jester costume. "Knock, knock, puddin'!" she purred. "Say hello to your new and improved Harley Quinn!"

Joker had recovered from his initial shock, and grinned up at her, delight and desire in his burning green eyes. "Pleased to meetcha, toots," he growled.

Harley grabbed his hand and helped him up just as the alarms started blaring. "C'mon, we gotta hurry," she said, racing down the corridor and heading for the keypad at the end. "The cops get here in ten minutes, unless I shut this off quick and they think it's just a false alarm."

She punched in the code and the alarm silenced. "There. They ain't gonna rush over, but they're legally obligated to check it out," she said. "We should make tracks."

"Just a second, pooh," said Joker, beaming at the inmates in the cell block who had been woken by the alarm, and were now rubbing their eyes sleepily. "Hey, Johnny!" he called at Crane. "Call me a liar, huh? Well, take a look at this!"

He seized Harley around the waist and thrust his mouth into hers. Harley squealed in delight, pulling him in closer.

"Dr. Quinzel?" said Ivy, staring at her in disbelief.

"Doc's out, Red," retorted Harley, breaking the kiss at last and smiling. "Sorry I gotta abandon you all halfway through your therapy, but true love calls, y'know!"

She dashed off down the corridor after Joker. "You could have at least opened the other cell doors while you were at it!" called Ivy after them. "Jerks."

"Yes, it's so rude to stage a breakout for just one person," sighed Crane. "No manners, honestly!" he muttered, heading back to bed.

…

"Well, it ain't a five-star hotel on the French Riviera, kid," said Joker, gesturing around the hideout. "But it's home!"

"Yeah, it'll do nicely," said Harley, looking around. "And with a little imagination, it'll be just as good!"

"That's some imagination you got," chuckled Joker.

"It is, puddin'," she agreed, grinning. "Wait until you see all the naughty stuff I've been imagining about you."

He chuckled, kissing her. "That all you brought?" he asked, gesturing to her bag of tricks. "No clothes or nothing?"

She smiled. "I did bring one piece of clothing," she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out Jack's shirt that she had kept the night he had told her who he really was. "It was my most valuable possession before you came back into my life. I curled up in bed with it every night."

"No need for that now, baby," he said, taking her in his arms. "I'm here, and I ain't going nowhere. Anyway, I'm more of an orange shirt kinda guy now," he laughed.

"Yeah, my old wardrobe wouldn't have worked for Harley Quinn, which is why I didn't bring it," said Harley, shrugging. "I'll steal some new stuff later, but the costume's good for now. Or would you prefer me outta the costume, Mr. J?" she asked, grinning.

"Yeah, in a second though," he agreed, kissing her again. "I got an idea."

He headed over to an old record player in the corner, picked it up, and moved it into the bathroom, where he lit some candles. Next he filled the bath, dumped some salt into the water, and then headed into the kitchen to fetch a bottle of French wine. He returned to the bathroom with two glasses and a record, which he set spinning on the player. It began playing Edith Piaf's "La Vie en rose."

"There we go," he said, gesturing around. "French people singing, French wine, romantic candlelight, and salt water. It's just like being back on the Riviera!"

"And you say I got a great imagination," said Harley, smiling.

"Well, why can't fate give us a second chance with our time there too?" he asked, taking her in his arms. "Different, like us, but the love's the same, right?"

Harley beamed. "That's right, puddin'," she murmured, kissing him.

Joker poured the wine while Harley undressed and climbed into the bath. He joined her, handing her a glass. "You know any French toasts?" he asked. "And I ain't talking about the breakfast food!" he laughed.

"Nope," she replied. "Still don't speak a word."

He shrugged. "Guess we'll have to settle for the English, then," he said, raising his glass. "To us, toots, and our future as the Joker and Harley Quinn. Gotta say, it's looking pretty bright to me. Here's looking at you, kid," he added, winking.

They drank slowly from their glasses, Harley savoring the heavy, bitter taste of the wine, which was quickly joined by the warm, sweet taste of his lips, and the feel of his flesh against hers. She had never felt life so strongly, and she had never felt this alive before. Before she had been nothing, and now she was the Joker's Harley Quinn. And she would burn like the brightest star in the sky.

 _Des yeux qui font baisser les miens  
Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche  
Voilà le portrait sans retouche  
De l'homme auquel j'appartiens_

 _Quand il me prend dans ses bras  
Il me parle tout bas  
Je vois la vie en rose_

 _Il me dit des mots d'amour  
Des mots de tous les jours  
Et ça me fait quelque chose_

 _Il est entré dans mon coeur  
Une part de bonheur  
Dont je connais la cause_

 _Et dès que je l'aperçois  
Alors je sens en moi  
Mon coeur qui bat_

 **The End**


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